Past is Prologue
by camlann
Summary: Sometimes, the past can be both a blessing and a curse. For John Winchester, a walk down memory lane could prove to be more than he bargained for when he's suddenly faced with the unexpected, in the form of two eight-year-olds.
1. Startling Revelations

Disclaimer: I only own that which I came up with. I have no claim whatsoever on Kripke's characters or his plotlines.

A/N: Ok, so here's my first attempt at a SN fic--hope you like.

Chapter 1: A Startling Revelation

John Winchester scrubbed at his face with both hands, trying vainly to rub away the weariness that had set in hours ago. He sat in a diner like any other, so nondescript as to be indistinguishable from any other he'd sat in over the years. _Just another place where you pay for your food with just a little money now and a whole lot of indigestion later._ The sounds of silverware clinking against dishware and the soft murmur of voices washed over him, and he sighed before reaching for his cup, the lukewarm coffee that it held having long ago lost all of its appeal.

Glancing up at Dean and Sam sitting across the table from him, it was hard to believe that Dean was seventeen and Sam was thirteen, for it seemed like just yesterday that they had both been trailing behind him, neither one higher than his waist, Sam's small hand tucked safely into his brother's as they followed him to the Impala.

"Hey, Sammy, I think that waitress is checking you out, bro," Dean said with a grin, nodding somewhere past John. Sam glanced up, only to blanch at the sight of whatever waitress Dean was pointing to. John turned to look and could only grin when he saw her. _She's sixty if she's a day,_ he thought, _but even that doesn't explain away the obvious lack of teeth or the shade of 'old-people blue' hair_, John thought, even as Sam turned to confront his brother.

"Real funny, Dean," Sam said with a scowl.

"Dude, that's the best comeback you've got? Sammy, I thought I taught you better than that," Dean said mockingly.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

John watched, amused by their ever-present bickering, even as he felt a sense of contentment spread through him. The bantering between his boys was the one constant in their crazy-ass lives, and John welcomed it, enjoying anything that could constitute as normal. A bad hunt a week and half ago had resulted in a hospital stay for Dean, numerous small injuries for John, and a lot of resentment from Sam, who had once again been forced to stay home. _Or whatever motel happens to constitute for home on any given day_, John thought.

The arguing between John and Sam had been put on hold since Dean had been released from the hospital that morning, but John knew Sam still felt more than a little upset about being left behind, unable to help when things went wrong. And of course, Sam had hit that age where hormones were making him more than a little temperamental, leaving John sincerely missing the days when Sam had been an easy-going, compliant six-year-old. With Dean hurt bad enough to need a hospital, stress had taken its toll on the Winchesters, and to John, the return to what passed as "normal" for them was a blessed relief.

Having just left the hospital that morning, Dean was still looking a little worse for wear, John thought as he watched his oldest gingerly lean forward to finish off the last bite of his lunch. _He thinks I don't notice, but I see more than he gives me credit for_He watched Dean for another second before turning his attention to Sam.

Things were still a bit dodgy with his youngest, he knew, but he wasn't sure how to fix it. He knew that his last words to Sam before Dean had been hurt hadn't exactly been loving or supportive. _It's not the first time my temper and my obsession with hunting have screwed things up with Sammy, and no doubt it won't be the last. But still…I'd fix things if I could._

Sam was taking a break from his usual active hostility and was currently doing his damnedest to give his father the silent treatment. The refusal to acknowledge him and the lack of eye contact left John without an opening to apologize. And though apologizing rankled, John was willing, if it meant cutting through the cloud of tension that was continuing to descend on them. He watched Sam play with the salt shaker, sliding it back and forth from one hand to another as he slipped back into the moody listlessness that seemed to grip him more and more frequently these days. John sighed, reaching for another packet of sugar to put in his coffee as he turned to look out the window before Sam caught him watching.

"Hey, Sammy, you gonna eat that?" Dean was asking, eyeing his brother's untouched burger with longing.

"No, be my guest," Sam replied, shoving the plate towards his older brother, his expressive brown eyes, for once, not revealing his thoughts. John frowned, for though he was glad to see Dean's normal, insatiable appetite returning, he wasn't pleased to note that Sam's food had remained untouched.

"Sam, you need to eat," John said gruffly, watching as Sam's jaw clenched angrily.

"I'm fine," Sam replied tersely, still refusing to look at his father.

"Yeah? You don't think I've noticed that you've hardly eaten in two days? If you don't start taking care of yourself, I'm gonna wind up having to pick your ass up off the floor when something nasty gets the best of you."

"Yeah, if you actually let me go anywhere with you," Sam mumbled, his hands toying with the straw in his soda.

"That's enough, Sam," John said firmly, unwilling to let his son provoke him at this point.

Dean watched the two of them warily, holding Sam's burger in midair, halfway to his mouth, as he waited to see if his brother was going to argue. John couldn't blame him really, not after all the constant fighting between him and Sam that consistently resulted in Dean being put square in the middle. An uneasy peace had settled between the two of them while Dean had been recovering from the injuries inflicted upon him by the nasty poltergeist they'd run up against, but John knew that all three of them were waiting for it to come to an abrupt end.

Sam glanced over at Dean before he grudgingly subsided, and John grimaced. _I guess I should be thankful that Sam tries so hard to please Dean, because I know for damn sure he didn't refrain from arguing for _my_ benefit,_ John thought, watching Sam sitting back in the booth wordlessly. John could tell from the lingering defiance in his eyes that Sam was all but daring him to continue the argument they were both itching for, but John refused to get sucked into the dispute. _Dean's not up for this, not now. If I can't do anything else right for my children, I can at least give my oldest some well-deserved peace. Even if it is only temporary._

That last fight had taken a lot out of all of them, John knew. For probably the first time, Sam had taken his anger out on his brother as well as his father, and though Dean didn't show it, John knew that it had hurt his oldest more than Dean would ever admit. Ever since, there had been a subtle vulnerability about Dean, and John was doing his best to keep some sense of peace and harmony.

"Hey, I can give it back, if you--," Dean said quietly, beginning to set the burger back down on the plate.

"Nah, go ahead. I'm not hungry."

"Sammy," Dean said hesitantly, "maybe Dad's right on this one. You should eat something," he told him, staring at him with worry in his eyes.

"Look, I'll get something to snack on at the next gas stop, okay?" Sam replied lightly, trying to placate his brother in a way that he never would have with his father.

"Don't bullshit me, Sammy," Dean said, pushing the plate back angrily.

"What are you talking about?"

"You never could lie worth a damn to me, Sammy—you and I both know that you have no intention of grabbing something at the next gas station we stop at. You're just hoping I'll be so doped up on those painkillers Dad keeps forcing down my throat that I won't notice," Dean said hotly.

"You're the one who just got out of the freakin' hospital, Dean, not me. Like I told Dad, I'm fine. You're always worrying about me—I don't need you to," Sam retorted, his face beginning to redden.

"Well excuse the hell out of me for caring," Dean said. "I thought I was just looking after my little brother, but hey, I'm sorry—I must have been put here just to piss you off. Looks like I'm doing a damn fine job of it!"

Sam's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and John sighed, knowing that he was going to have to step in if he wanted to avoid a scene.

"Boys, let's just finish eating in peace. Sam, if you don't want to eat, fine, but don't lie to your brother about it. And Dean, let it go."

"What, you're gonna take his side?" Dean asked incredulously. "Dad, he's not eating—you said it yourself—if Sam gets his ass kicked because he hasn't eaten, then you and I are the ones that are gonna have to go in after him!"

"I don't need anyone to come in after me!" Sam cut in. "And if you two would just let me come with you, I could prove it to you! I'm not five years old, you know!"

"Well then stop acting like it," Dean snapped, and John wondered how they'd gone from the pleasant bantering of two minutes ago to the heated arguing that was quickly escalating.

"That's enough, both of you. Save it for later, is that clear?" John asked, making sure his tone left no room for argument.

"Yes sir," they each muttered, both of them subsiding into a tense silence.

John's cell phone rang at that moment, cutting through the tension, and as John looked away to search for his phone, he could see out of the corner of his eye as Dean took advantage of the diversion to whack Sam across the back of the head.

"Hey!" Sam protested, his own anger seeming to vanish when he caught the apology in Dean's eyes. Like John himself, Dean was never one for chick-flick moments and apologies, but John knew that Dean hated to be at odds with his brother as much as Sam did. He hid a smile as he watched Dean grin and bite down into Sam's burger, his trademark smirk in place as he turned his full attention back to his food.

"Dean, grow up," Sam said playfully with a rueful shake of his head, turning to look at John as he answered the phone.

"Yeah?" John said, glancing at the boys as he spoke into the phone.

"Are you…um, are you John Winchester?"

The scared little girl's voice was the last thing John expected, and he quickly frowned, trying to figure out how a child could possibly be calling him.

"Yeah, who is this?"

"Um…it's me, Aubrey. Mama's gone, and we're scared," she said, her voice shaking as she spoke softly into the phone. _Okay, that really didn't clear anything up. She can't be more than eight or nine…but then, what the hell do I know about little girls? What the hell is goin' on?_

"How did you get my number?" John asked, not understanding the situation any more than he did before.

"Mama said to call you if something happened. And…she's not here anymore…she disappeared."

The boys were both looking at him now, and he could see the curiosity in their eyes, but for once, he didn't have any answers for them. Obviously, he had met the girl's mother or maybe helped her father, who had passed on John's contact information to his wife. His mind immediately went to work, pinning her thick, drawling accent down to a location somewhere in the southeastern United States.

"What's her name?" John asked, trying to gentle his voice as he questioned her, averting his eyes as he caught sight of the boys staring at him questioningly.

"Elaine."

And that quickly, John knew the connection.

"What's your father's name?" he asked her, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Mama said...she said…" the girl stammered, hesitating.

"What did she say?" he coaxed, feeling a growing sense of unease beginning to fill him.

"She said…that you didn't know 'bout us, but that you'd come…if we needed you to. And she said…if something ever happened…that we should call you. Please come and get us—we're scared," she said tearfully, her voice growing more and more upset.

_Shit. This is completely unreal_, wasall John could think as he was hit with the realization that when he'd said goodbye to Elaine Taylor eight years ago, he'd left her with more than a wave. _I've got another kid. I've got a girl… What the hell am I supposed to do with a little girl?_ _Wait a minute… _

"Who is 'we'?" he asked, almost fearing the answer.

"Me and Braden."

"And Braden is…?"

"My brother."

"How old is he?" John asked, thinking, _Please, God, don't let this one be mine, too_.

"Um…we're twins—we're the same age," she told him, sniffling in an attempt to hold back tears.

John rubbed at his eyes, suddenly feeling a bone-deep weariness beginning to settle over him as he struggled to absorb all that she'd just told him. _I've gone from having two kids to suddenly finding out I have four. Dammit, why the hell does everything in my life always seem to snowball out of my control?_ he thought angrily. Standing, John motioned for the boys to stay where they were as he headed outside, needing the space even as he knew he was just trying to keep the boys from overhearing anything.

"Are you gonna come and get us?" Aubrey was asking worriedly, her voice breaking as she spoke.

"Okay, first, you need to calm down and tell me what happened," he told her as the glass door of the diner swung closed behind him.

"We thought Mama was still in bed this morning, but me and Braden woke up early, so we were playing with Legos in his room so we wouldn't wake Mama up. And then, we heard Mama scream. We were really scared—she's never screamed like that before, not even that time when there was a big spider in the bathtub."

"What happened after you heard her scream?" he asked, not wanting her to get sidetracked. He needed answers, and he needed them fast.

"Braden grabbed my hand and pulled me and him into his closet and shut the door….Mama kept screaming, and then it got really quiet," she said, beginning to sob. "We stayed in there a really long time, but then Braden said he thought it was safe and we should go look for Mama, only, we couldn't find her. 'Cept, we didn't check her room, cause Braden said it might not be safe in there, cause that's where she was when we heard her last. But he said he didn't think Mama was still in there, cause she would have answered us if she was." _Unless she's dead,_ John thought, wondering if the two eight-year-olds were actually in the house with their mother's lifeless body.

"Did you see any trace of your mother, any clue about what might have happened?" he asked, knowing even as he voiced the question that asking an eight-year-old for clues was about as pointless as shooting an angry spirit with regular bullets—pretty damn useless—especially if whatever had happened was supernatural in origin. His concern grew as he suddenly realized that being related to him may have put the two kids at serious risk. _God, I'd never forgive myself if something happened to them because of me. I may not know them, but they're still my kids, and I'm responsible for keeping them safe._

"Um…I don't know," she told him brokenly, breaking into his reverie as she answered his question. He heard her repeat the question to someone on the other end as well as the murmur of a response before she spoke again. "Braden says he didn't see anything."

"Are the doors and windows all locked?"

"I don't know that either," she said tearfully.

"That's alright, but you need to check. Are you on a cordless phone?"

"No," she said softly.

"Ok, set the phone down for a second and go with your brother to make sure everything is still locked. Check the doors _and _the windows. Stay out of your mother's room, though," he told her, not wishing the two children to stumble upon their mother's body if she was indeed still in the house. He heard her footsteps recede as she ran to check, and John resisted the urge to grit his teeth, never fond of showing any signs of nervousness or anxiety.

He let out a sigh of relief the second Aubrey's voice came back on the line, informing him that everything was still locked.

"But Mama's room smells funny," she told him. "We can smell it through the door."

"What's it smell like?" John asked, hoping, praying, that the smell wasn't the stench of death filtering through the door.

"Umm…stinky. Like really icky eggs." _Shit. Sulfur._

"Braden said to tell you that it's sulfur," she said. _How the hell would an eight-year-old know that? _John thought, but before he could ponder the matter further, he heard her sniffling and knew she was a step away from crying again.

"Ok. Listen, do you have a friend that you two could go stay with for just a bit?"

"No," she whimpered. "Mama just got a new job, and we moved here so she could be closer, and we don't have any friends yet," she said tearfully, and John felt a surge of helplessness, adding to the gamut of emotions he'd felt since answering the phone. He knew for a fact that Elaine didn't have any other family, and she was a private enough person that he doubted she had any friends close enough to come get her children.

"It's alright, Aubrey. Listen, can you give me your address?"

She told him, and John closed his eyes, shaking his head with angrily.

"I'm gonna come and get you, but I'm several states away right now, and it's gonna take me some time to get there, so I need you to do something for me."

John didn't waste any time giving her instructions, ordering the two of them to pack up duffel bags with as many clothes as they could manage as well as a few of their favorite toys before dragging everything by the door. With the addition of pillows and sleeping bags, he had her instruct Braden to dig around until he found the refill container of salt that their mother had stashed in a kitchen cabinet.

"Alright, now I want you or Braden to pour the salt out in lines at every window and at every door that leads outside, just a straight, unbroken line of salt. Just salt the door leading into your mother's room—don't go in. And then I want you two to salt the doors leading to and from the kitchen and stay there, where you'll have extra protection. Do you think you can do that?"

She didn't answer for a moment, obviously relaying the information to her brother before she came back on the line.

"Braden says his closet is safest. He says we'll wait for you in there."

"No, you'll do what I tell you," John told her sternly. _God, if you've given me two more kids to look after, could you at least work with me here and not give me another one that talks back to me? _

"But, Daddy—"

"No, Aubrey," cutting her off, even as it registered that she'd called him "Daddy" for the first time, her acceptance of him as her father immediate and without hesitation. _No time to dwell on it now, John—take care of business._ "You tell your brother that I want the both of you in that kitchen, do you understand me?"

"Okay," she murmured.

After he was assured that the two of them were doing what they were told, he felt himself relax a fraction, knowing that at least they had some protection until he could get there, even if it wasn't perfect.

"Now, those salt lines will keep anything from getting through, so long as you don't mess with them, ok? And you've got my number. You call me if you get scared, understand?"

"Okay," she said tremulously, and John felt his heart ache at hearing her fear. He knew he'd left Dean and Sam alone when Dean wasn't much older than Aubrey, but Dean had known what was out there, and he'd known what to do. Neither of the boys had been alone, and his oldest had been trained to look after them both. While the twins had each other, they didn't know how to protect themselves, and John felt true fear at the thought of the children he hadn't even known he had being totally alone and defenseless.

"Alright, now make sure you two are packed and ready to go, and I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy." John waited for her to hang up before he slowly cut the connection. He took a deep breath, knowing that the boys were still waiting for answers, answers that they would no doubt demand immediately.

As he slipped back into the booth, both boys looked up from the tic-tac-toe game they were playing in a pile of salt that one of them had obviously poured onto the table.

"Who poured salt all over the table?" he asked, frowning at both of them. He knew it was stupid to ask, because not only was he unlikely to get an answer, it was also obvious that he was trying to delay the inevitable questions concerning his phone call.

"Dean did it," Sam answered at the same time that Dean said, "Sam did it." _The sad thing is, it really _could_ have been either one of them…Sam would be the obvious choice, because he's the youngest, but I can never underestimate Dean's ability to make a mess for the sake of passing time. Knowing them, it was Dean's bright idea and Sam was talked into it. _John shook his head but before he could interrogate them further, Sam beat him to it.

"So who was the chick on the phone, Dad?" _Obviously, he's forgotten that he was trying to ignore me. Damn._

John didn't respond to the question at first, stirring more sugar into his coffee without raising his eyes.

"Dad, what's going on?" Dean asked, the stolen burger forgotten on his plate as he stared at his father expectantly. John sighed, pushing the cup away from him as he locked gazes with his oldest.

"Dean, I know I said we were going to take it easy for the next couple of weeks, but do you think you're up to taking a road trip?"

"Yes, sir."

"We need to get to South Carolina."

"Dad, that's like at least a thousand miles from here," Sam burst out.

"Don't exaggerate, Sam—it's not that far. We're looking at a little shy of 700 miles."

"Dean just got out of the hospital, and now you want to drive across the country? You said we'd stay here for awhile and let Dean take it easy! Or is this another case of something else mattering more than me and Dean?" he asked angrily.

"Shut-up, Sam," Dean said, cutting off his younger brother's tirade. "Dad, you know I've got your back—always," he said with a seriousness that was at odds with his usual carefree attitude.

John stared at him for a long moment, his eyes searching his son for signs that he was still too hurt to make the trip.

"Dean, maybe your brother's right about this one," he told Dean reluctantly. "Maybe I should leave you two here and come back for you after I take care of business."

"No way! I'm coming. I can rest on the way—Sammy can drive for awhile." _Kid must be desperate if he's willing to let his thirteen-year-old brother drive his car._

"Are you sure?" he asked, his tone leaving no doubt that he expected an honest answer from his son.

"Yes, sir."

"Alright, then. This is what we'll do. Sam's not old enough to drive the car for long distances—we can't afford to be stopped, so we'll leave my truck here, take the Impala and I'll swing back by for the truck later. We need to load everything into the Impala though, and we need to do it fast."

"What are we hunting?" Dean asked, all business when it came to a hunt.

"We're not hunting anything. Simple retrieval. For now."

"Yeah, right," Sam mumbled, his temper—always ready to explode these days—obviously beginning to fray as his opinion was once again ignored.

"Samuel, cut it out," John said commanded, no longer willing to tolerate Sam's attitude.

"Why can't you just call whoever it was back and say you can't do it this time?" he exploded. "Just once, why couldn't you say no?!"

"Fine, Sam. Sure. I'll just call your little sister back and tell her that we're not coming," John said bitingly. A stunned silence fell over the boys, and John immediately regretted his outburst. _Way to break it to them gently, Johnny boy_, he thought angrily.

"Dad, what the hell are you talking about?" Dean asked quietly after a long, strained silence.

"That wasn't how I wanted to tell you," John said gruffly. "But it's like this. Eight years ago, I was working a job down in South Carolina. Old plantation house haunted by some real nasty spirits. Helped out this woman, Elaine Taylor, who was working there at the time. It took me a couple of weeks to find the bones, but I finished up and left soon after that. Never went back, so I didn't know that she had given birth to your sister and her twin brother until that phone call."

"So you didn't know you got her pregnant? Way to be responsible, Dad," Sam said sarcastically.

"First of all, you watch your tone when you talk to me," John said, his ire stirring in response to Sam's reaction. "Second of all, I take precautions when I'm with a woman, but like I've always told you boys, no protection is one hundred percent safe. Accidents happen."

Sam folded his arms across his chest and looked down at the table, silently considering his father's revelation before he shrugged one shoulder and gave his dad a slight smile.

"Well, at least I won't be the youngest anymore," he said with a smirk that would have made his brother proud.

"You're alright with this, then?" John asked sincerely.

"I guess so. I mean, a little sister and brother would be pretty cool. I've never had either of those before."

"They're not like puppies, Sam," John said with a hint of a smile. "No getting rid of 'em if you get tired of 'em."

"We've never had puppies before either," Sam said with a laugh, "but a brother and sister are way cooler," he finished, a smile breaking through and leaving no trace of the angsty teenager he'd been moments before.

"Dean, what about you?" John asked, turning to his firstborn, who had remained silent since his father's explanation. Dean's jaw clenched and he looked away, staring mutely at the floor for a long moment before he painstakingly hauled himself to his feet, pulling his crutches to him without looking at his father.

"I'll meet you in the car, Sam. Move it or I'll leave your ass here," Dean said quietly, hobbling out without a word to John. Sam's eyes widened, obviously completely floored by his brother's first display of attitude towards their father, before he turned to stare at John.

"I guess that didn't go so well, huh, Dad?"

"You'd better hurry, Sam, before he leaves you to ride back to the motel with me."

"Right," Sam said, hastily grabbing his coat, and scrambling out of the booth. _Boy knows as well as I do that Dean won't hesitate to do exactly what he said he would if Sam doesn't hurry. _

"Oh, and Sam?"

"Sir?"

"See if you can find out what's going on in your brother's head, will ya'?"

"Yes, sir."

John watched Sam run for the door and bolt for the car, slamming the door of the Impala as he climbed inside. With a final, tired sigh, he took one last sip of his cold coffee before he paid the bill and left the diner behind, knowing that things had just gotten a whole lot harder.

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A/N: Please read and review--let me know what you think! I don't mind constructive criticism, but please, no flames.


	2. The Sting of Betrayal

A/N: Thanks to my SN betas, mimishell and CagedTroll, for all their help with my chapters. They've been looking at versions of this fic since late November. Thanks, you two!! Also, thanks to those of you who have reviewed or added this fic to your story alert list!

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 2: The Sting of Betrayal

Reaching the Impala, Dean winced as he threw open the driver's side door, feeling the pull of the stitches in his side as he tossed his crutches in the back seat, knowing that the gash there was actually the least of his problems. The knee was going to hurt so much more, he knew. He fought back a groan as he slowly crammed himself behind the wheel, his knee protesting the movement vehemently. Angered by the pain, he slammed the door closed and started the car, unwilling to acknowledge how much the simple act of getting into his car pained him. _At this point, things can't get much worse. My knee's completely effed up, and Dad just dropped a shitload on us without any warning. _The Impala's familiar roar, usually filling Dean with a sense of well being, was no comfort as his father's words seemed to echo in his mind.

"Damn it," he said, hitting the steering wheel with a clenched fist. Pain shot through his hand, and he cursed his stupidity, regretting the impulsive action as he tried to shake off the pain. With an angry sigh, he was just putting the car into reverse when Sammy opened the passenger side door and jumped inside.

"Thanks for not leaving me," he said breathlessly. "I didn't wanna ride back with Dad—it's a bitch to be stuck in a car with him." Dean didn't reply, just nodded as he backed the car out of the parking space and pulled away from the diner. His father's truck appeared in his rearview mirror shortly after, quickly lessening the distance between the two vehicles, and Dean scowled, fighting the urge to floor it.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked hesitantly, and from the corner of his eye, Dean could see him staring at him worriedly. "Your knee or your side botherin' you?"

_What should I do?_ Dean wondered, _lie and say yes, so he'll get off my back, or tell him the truth and say no? Either way, he's gonna keep asking annoying-ass questions until he's satisfied, but still…_

"Yeah, Sammy, that's it."

"Oh. Well, if that's true, why don't you let me drive," Sam offered lightly.

"It doesn't hurt_ that_ bad. You can forget it."

"But you told Dad that you'd let me drive if—"

"Yeah, and I lied. There's no way in hell you're driving my car, Sammy."

Sam huffed, and even as angry as he was with their dad, Dean had to fight the urge to smile at his brother's display of annoyance. _At least he quit asking questions,_ Dean thought with a shrug.

"So how come you're all pissed at Dad now?"

_Shit._

"Don't worry about it."

"Is it about our sister and brother? You know, Dad forgot to tell us their names," he mused, before turning to look at Dean once again, waiting for an answer.

"Look, Sammy, just let it go."

"Well, I think it's pretty awesome. I guess they'd be eight or so, right, since Dad said he helped out their mom eight years ago. Wasn't that what he said?"

"I dunno," Dean muttered, hoping that his younger brother would get the hint and leave it alone.

"It's pretty cool, you know, them being twins. And boy-girl twins—it's like two for the price of one. We get to have both a younger sister and a younger brother, instead of two brothers or two sisters."

"Yeah, well, I've already got a younger brother, don't I?" Dean said stiffly, his hands tightening around the steering wheel.

"Oh. So…you mad because Dad has more kids?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Sam."

"But, Dean, it'll be great—imagine all the fun we can have messin' with Dad now that there are four of us—twice the firepower," Sam said with a mischievous grin. "And Prank Wars take on a whole new dimension!" But Dean wasn't in the mood for it.

"Sammy, drop it," he said coldly.

"What bug crawled up your ass?" Sam groused, casting an annoyed look at his older brother.

"Sam, I swear, if you don't let it go—"

"Alright, alright. Bite my head off," Sam mumbled, his face settling into a disgruntled pout.

A long moment went by, and Dean felt the tension slowly beginning to leak away as silence settled around them. He carefully leaned forward, intending to turn the radio on, but before he could twist the dial, Sammy's voice piped up once again.

"Even if you don't tell _me_, you know Dad's gonna interrogate your ass until you tell him what's got your panties in a bunch," Sam said smugly.

Dean slammed on the brakes, jerking the wheel hard to the right, gravel spraying up around the car as he brought the Impala to a screeching halt on the side of the road. Sam looked over at Dean with wide eyes, even as their dad pulled up behind them, throwing open the door of the truck and storming over.

"What the hell are you doing?" he yelled, his face dark with anger as he placed his hands on the frame of the open window.

"Sammy's gonna ride with you for awhile," Dean told him, staring straight ahead through the windshield rather than at his father.

John was silent for a minute, and Dean knew without looking that his father's heavy gaze was on him, trying to figure out the answer to his question.

"Get out of the car, Dean."

"Why?"

"Well, for starters, because I said so," John said, and Dean had figured out long ago not to argue with that tone, even if Sammy hadn't. With an angry, annoyed sigh, Dean pushed the door open, climbing painstakingly out of the car to stand face-to-face with his father.

"Now what's the problem, son?"

"I don't have a problem," Dean said sullenly. _Why can't I just be pissed off in peace? Why does everybody have to expect a freakin' explanation? _

"Obviously you do, and you didn't answer my question."

"I don't wanna talk about it." Dean leaned back against the Impala, folding his arms over his chest as he turned away.

"Tough. Start talking."

Dean knew it was stupid and immature, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of anger and betrayal at the thought of his father with another woman. _I mean, sure, I sort of knew he wasn't always alone some of those nights when he'd disappear, but somehow, knowing he's got two kids running around makes it more real__…__I thought he loved Mom._

"Now, Dean."

"What the hell do you want me to say, Dad?" Dean exploded. "Do you want me to tell you that I'm pissed off at you because you went chasing after some piece of ass and got her pregnant and now we're stuck with more family members to worry about? I mean, is that really what you want me to say?!"

"First of all, she doesn't deserve that. Whatever issues you have with me _stay_ with me, do you understand?"

Dean looked away angrily, his eyes hot as he turned to stare off toward the distant sun, unwilling to look at his father as fury burned through him. But turning away from his father in an argument had never worked before, so Dean could hardly say he was surprised when John's hand suddenly came up and cupped his chin, forcing him to turn and meet his father's eyes. But John's gaze was never an easy one to match, and Dean had to fight the urge to jerk his head out of his father's grasp, just so he could avoid the older man's eyes.

"I said, do you understand?" John asked, his tone biting as his dark eyes pinned Dean in place for a long, painful moment.

"Yes sir," Dean replied, his jaw clenched with anger as he lowered his eyes, unable, as always, to bear confrontation with his father.

"Look, son," John said, with a sigh, his tone gruff but not unkind as he released his hold on Dean's chin and instead placed a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder. "I know we've never been much for all this touchy-feely emotional crap, but…I'm sorry about all this. I know getting two more younger siblings to take care of isn't exactly what you wanted, and for damn sure it's not gonna be easy. But we can't just ignore this either. Their mother has disappeared, maybe like your mom, and they're alone and scared. Now, I can't just turn my back on that. Can you?"

Dean swallowed, anger warring with guilt. 

_Why couldn't Dad just keep it in his pants? If he had just stayed faithful to Mom, then none of this would be happening. That lady would never have had kids, and we'd be takin' it easy, watching a kick-ass Bruce Willis movie on motel cable television. It'd almost be like we were normal…Instead, we have to get saddled with two eight-year-olds…two eight-year-olds that are scared because some fugly sonofabitch might have killed their mom._ _Dammit, why do I gotta feel sorry for them, anyway? Don't I have enough shit to deal with?_

"No sir," Dean said, his eyes meeting his father's for only a moment before he looked down, staring at his feet.

"We good?"

Dean shrugged his shoulder, knowing that they were far from good, but there was nothing else to say, not really. _It's not like he can change anything. What's done is done._ His dad gave him one last look before he stepped back, willing to let it go.

"Alright, well, we need to get moving. I don't want to leave the twins alone any longer than I have to. Do you still want your brother to go with me? I'll take him, if that's what you want."

"He can stay with me." 

_Might as well. If he goes with Dad, they'll be at each other's throats in no time, and then I'll get stuck with Sam anyway, except instead of being chatty and annoying, he'll be moody and annoying._

"Ok. I'll meet you boys at the motel."

Dean watched him go for a long moment before he sighed and got back in the car, giving Sam a stern look before he eased the car back onto the road.

"Don't, Sam," Dean said as he saw Sam start to open his mouth.

"What? I wasn't gonna say anything," Sam complained.

"Yeah, you were."

"Ok, so I was. But you don't know _what_ I was going to say," Sam argued.

"Yeah, I do. You were gonna be your usual annoying self and ask me a bunch of chick-flick questions that I don't wanna answer."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

A calm silence fell, and Dean reached for the radio once again, holding his breath as he waited for Sam to say something. But when his little brother said nothing, Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief and turned the volume up, only to grimace at the sound of the perky boy-band that was currently masquerading as music on his radio.

"You been messin' with my radio, Sammy?"

"No." But Dean knew his brother well enough to know that Sammy was lying through his teeth.

"Dude, how many times I gotta tell you to leave my radio alone?"

"Your stations suck," Sam complained loudly.

"Look, we've talked about this. I'm the oldest, it's my car, and what I say goes. If I wanna listen to Metallica and AC/DC all freakin' day, tough. Deal with it, because I'm sure as hell not listenin' to that shit you call music."

"It's better than your shit. This station plays what's _cool_ right now."

"Yeah, you just keep tellin' yourself that. Meanwhile, we're listening to what I wanna listen to, and I don't wanna hear about it," Dean retorted, pushing a tape into the tape deck and amping up the volume. As the base exploded and guitar riffs thrummed through the speakers, Dean felt a moment of contentment, glad, for the moment, just to be in his car, where he could pretend for awhile that everything was okay.

Casting a look at his younger brother out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam slumped against the leather seat, sulking as the familiar sounds of Dean's music settled around them.

_No way Sammy's gonna let me off that easy_, Dean knew. It was only a question of how long it would take Sam to throw caution to the wind and start asking questions again. _But I'll take what I can get,_ Dean thought, deciding to enjoy the peace and not-so-quiet while he could.

Arriving at the motel, Sam shot out of the car, leaving Dean to drag his crutches out and follow at a more sedate pace, and by the time he got inside, Sam was already putting his neatly folded clothes into his bag. Dean rolled his eyes before he slowly started gathering his things. _At least I haven't been here long enough to have pulled a bunch of shit out. For once._ Usually, it took Dean longer to pack than any of them, not because he tried to fold his clothes but because he usually had strewn them around the room and had to go about gathering them up. Zipping his duffel closed and cradling his left side, Dean shoved the bag off the side of the bed, deciding against trying to tote it out to the Impala when pain flared in his knee, protesting even the slightest movement. _Bruised insides and these stupid-ass gashes in my side are bad enough, but this busted-up knee is a bitch. When's this gonna stop hurting already?_

"Hey, Sammy, why don't you be a good little brother and take my bag to the car," he said, aiming a winning smile over at his brother, hoping that his effort to pretend that everything was okay was convincing enough.

"Dude, I'm not carrying your shit. Get it yourself," Sam retorted, giving his brother a look that clearly said that Dean was stupid for even voicing it.

"Sam, get your brother's bag and take it to the car," John ordered, having walked through the door in time to hear Sam's retort.

"Aw, man," Sam complained, even as Dean smirked at him.

"Dean, have you taken one of those pain meds yet?"

And that quickly, the smirk disappeared.

"No sir," Dean said tightly.

"Take care of it."

"Dad, I don't need one. I'm fine." _Play it cool—he'll never know if you just play it cool, _Dean told himself firmly_. Don't let him see that you're hurting._

"Take your own advice, son—don't bullshit me. Swallow the pill, take a piss if you need to, and go get in the car."

"Dad—"

"That wasn't a suggestion."

Swiping the pill bottle off the bedside table angrily, Dean stormed into the bathroom. _Maybe he won't know if I just pretend to take one. _

"And Dean?" John called through the door.

"Sir?"

"I know exactly how many pills are in that bottle, so don't even try to get out of taking one."

_Dammit, how does he know? Maybe I could flush one instead…_

"And don't try to flush one either!" John hollered, and Dean heard Sam laugh, even as he grimaced.

"How did you know?" Dean called back grudgingly, hating to admit it but wanting to know how his father managed to always stay a step ahead of him.

"Because, son, I'm not stupid, and I know how you think, because it's an awful lot like how I think. In fact, open the door. I want to see you swallow it."

Dean cursed under his breath before tugging the door open to see his father standing there with his hand held out.

"Pills," he said, holding his hand out. Dean slapped the pill bottle into John's hand, watching resentfully as his father opened the bottle and shook one out into his palm. "Here. Take it." Dean took the pill and swallowed it dry, wincing before he started past John. But John reached out and stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. "Open your mouth."

"Dad, what the hell? I'm not a kid, you know."

"Oh yeah? Then stop acting like it," John said with a hint of a smile, parroting Dean's earlier words to Sam. "You always were difficult when it came to taking meds. Now open up."

Rolling his eyes, Dean opened his mouth, showing his father that he had indeed swallowed the pill. Satisfied, John clapped him on the shoulder before nodding toward the door.

"Go ahead and get in the car. Sam and I will be out in a few. Oh, and Dean? I'm assuming I don't have to tell you that you're strictly riding shotgun this trip."

"Yeah, Dad, I got it," Dean said resentfully.

"Good."

Dean resisted the urge to make a face at his father's back, instead heading for the door. Reaching the car, he pulled his jacket off, wadding it up and using it as a pillow to put between his head and the window. A few minutes later, his dad and Sam were piling stuff into the trunk of the car. The familiar sound of the trunk slamming shut was quickly followed by the creak of the Impala's doors, and then, John was in the driver's seat, his truck locked and secure in the corner of the parking lot where hopefully no one would mess with it. 

_Please don't let someone jack Dad's truck. If anything happens to it, I'm back to sharing my car and traveling with Sam and Dad together and at each other's throats._

As his music began piping through the speakers, Dean watched his father frown and lean forward, popping the tape out and replacing it with the sound of old school country music.

"Yes," Sam crowed from the back seat.

"Shut-up, Sam," Dean grumbled.

"You're just pissed because Dad changed your music," Sam said with a teasing laugh.

"Dude, what the hell? You don't like Dad's music any more than I do," Dean said, turning to stare at Sam incredulously.

"Yeah, but at least if I have to be miserable, I won't be the only one."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"Boys."

The car became silent, except for the voice of Merle Haggard on the radio and the sound of John tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Dean felt the pill beginning to kick in, his eyes starting to close as the pain in his knee and the ache in his side began to fade away to a dull throbbing. He could feel himself starting to drift when the sound of Sam's voice over the music jerked him out of his stupor.

"So, Dad, what are the twins' names? You didn't tell us."

"Aubrey and Braden."

"And they're eight?"

"Yeah."

"So what happened anyway? I mean, why did Aubrey call? I thought you didn't know about them, so how did she get your number?"

"Something happened to their mom, and whatever it is, it's not natural."

"How do you know?"

"There are traces of sulfur—they could smell it coming from her room. The kids knew something was wrong, and their Mom had told them to call me if anything ever happened."

"Do you think they're gonna be okay until we get there?"

"I hope so."

"Do you think it's the same thing that happened to Mom?"

"I don't know, son."

"Well, if their mom is…well, if the same sort of thing happened to their mom that happened to ours…are they going to live with us?"

"Yeah. They don't have anyone else."

Dean fought the pull of sleep, not wanting to miss the conversation his dad and Sam were having, and he must have made some sound because a second later, he felt his father's hand on his head, ruffling his hair gently.

"Don't fight it, son. Get some sleep." The imagined pressure he'd been feeling ever since his dad's revelation seemed to melt away under the influence of the happy pain pills, and finally, Dean allowed himself to relax into a blissful sleep.

* * *

A/N: So here's the second chapter. How am I doing so far? Next up, a Sam-centric chapter for your reading pleasure.


	3. Crossing the Line

A/N: Thank you to everyone who sent a review. Keep 'em coming! Thanks to my betas, mimishell and CagedTroll, for letting me bounce ideas off them constantly and for listening to me talk about nothing but my fic for long periods of time.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 3: Crossing the Line

The trip was becoming as long and miserable as Sam had figured it would. Four hours into the trip and Dean and their dad had gotten into another argument over the pain pills, Dean insisting he didn't need another one and John insisting that he did. _Dad won that argument…big surprise. Like Dean ever really says no to Dad, even when he's pissed at him like he is now._ With Dean drugged into oblivion once again, Sam was left with nobody but his father to talk to, and nobody to playfully bicker with. _Yeah, Dad doesn't play that game. He sucks to travel with. Even with all the shitty music, Dean's so much more fun._ He heaved a sigh, nudging the back of the front seat with the toe of his sneaker.

"Sam, don't start," John said sternly.

"What? I didn't do anything."

"You know what I'm talking about. Any second, you were about to start fidgeting, and that would be followed by you asking me when we're gonna stop, and_that_ would be followed by you kickin' the back of my seat harder than you already are."

"I wasn't kicking it," Sam muttered.

"Well, you better be glad your brother's unconscious, because if he knew you'd been sticking your feet up on the seat of his precious car, he'd be pounding your ass into the ground."

Sam aimed a scowl at the back of John's head before turning to gaze out the window, wishing he'd thought to grab a second book from his dad's collection in the trunk. _Since I ran out of comic books, even Dad's weirdo books are starting to look good. I'll read anything at this point, as long as I don't have to stare at anymore stupid license plates and dumb-ass billboards._

"Dad, can you pull over soon?"

"Sam, what did I just get finished saying?" John asked, a hint of irritation beginning to filter into his voice.

"I just wanna get a book out of the trunk. I ran out of comic books, like, three hundred miles ago."

"Tough luck."

_If you'd just pull over, luck wouldn't have anything to do with it_, Sam thought with annoyance.

"Why don't you take a nap?" John offered, a hint of futile hope in his voice.

"Oh, yeah, cause that's real fun," Sam replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Well, I'm not stopping until late, so you'd better find something to amuse yourself with. Otherwise, we could always play 'Weapon-Foe'," John said.

"I'd rather nap," Sam told him, slumping down in the seat with his arms crossed over his chest. _Why can't we ever play something normal, instead of Dad's stupid idea of a road-game? _

"Weapon-Foe" was a game their dad had come up with when they were younger. He'd describe a supernatural foe, and the boys had to guess what the enemy was and what weapon was best for killing it. Sam was usually the best to guess the foe, but Dean had always dominated at the weapons part of the game. Nevertheless, Sam recognized the game for what it was—a barely disguised attempt to teach them as much as possible about the supernatural.

"This blows," Sam mumbled, fighting the urge to kick the back of his dad's seat. _Maybe I can get Dean to convince Dad to stop. Hell, he wouldn't even have to say anything—if he woke up, Dad would pull over so he could get out of the car for a minute. Like it's a big effing deal__for Dean to sit on his ass in the car for awhile. It's not like he's _walking_ or anything,_ Sam rationalized._ And it's not like they didn't stitch his side up—it probably doesn't even hurt anymore. If he'd just wake up…it wouldn't hurt for him to wake up for awhile, I bet…And he _did_ say that he was tired of sleeping all the time…_

Sam bit his lip, trying to decide if it was worth it to wake his brother up. But after another ten minutes of listening to just one more in a long list of songs by loser hick cowboys wailing about the women who'd left them for somebody better, Sam made up his mind._ It's so worth it. _Unbuckling his seatbelt, Sam slid over to sit behind Dean.

"What are you doing?"

"My shoulder hurts from leaning against that door so long. I'm switchin' sides so I can wear out the other one now," Sam said, wincing at the sarcasm in his voice. _Please don't let him say anything._

"Put your seatbelt on."

"Yessir."

After a minute, Sam slowly pushed his foot into the back of Dean's seat, surreptitiously keeping one eye on his father to make sure John didn't notice. Luckily, the last pain pill that had knocked Dean out had been taken a few hours ago and its effect wasn't quite as strong as it had been earlier, so Dean began to stir as Sam increased the pressure on the back of the seat.

With a groan, Dean's eyes cracked open and he rubbed at his neck wearily, trying to rub the kinks out of his neck and shake off the effects of the pill.

"Dammit, what the hell?" Dean croaked, dragging his hands over his face before pushing his fingers through his hair.

"What's wrong, Dean?" John asked, turning a concerned gaze on his eldest.

"Just tryin' to figure out why Sammy is pushin' his dirty-ass shoe into the back of my seat," Dean said with more than a hint of annoyance, his eyes promising retaliation for the infraction as he turned his gaze on his younger brother.

_Uh-oh._

"Samuel!" John barked, and Sam winced, knowing he'd screwed up. _Oops. Guess I didn't think this through all the way—didn't remember that Dean could blow the whole deal._

"Sorry, Dean," he said sincerely.

"What the hell were you doing, anyway?"

"I'll tell you what he was doing," John said stormily. "He was bored, so he decided to make a nuisance of himself and wake you up so that he'd either have someone else to annoy or I'd be forced to stop the car so you can stretch that knee, allowing him time to get a book out of the trunk."

"Wow, Dad—how do you do that?" Sam asked, sitting forward to prop his arms up on the back of the front seat, impressed in spite of himself.

"Sam, you're thirteen—you're not that hard to figure out."

"Dammit," Sam said, sitting back in disappointment.

"Dean, do you need me to stop?"

_Say yes, Dean, say yes_, Sam thought, wishing he could magically force the words into his brother's mind. _Like Jean-Grey or Professor X in X-Men. Or like all those Jedi in my Star Wars comic books. Telepathy would be so cool. Say, yes, Dean._ For a moment, he was sure that Dean was going to cave and tell their dad to keep driving, but in the end, Dean came through for him, and Sam wondered if maybe there wasn't something to that whole telepathy thing after all.

"Yeah, Dad, just pull over for a minute. My knee's lockin' up on me." John pulled over without a word, bringing the car to a stop and quickly stepped out of the car, intending to come around to open Dean's door and help him out. As John walked around the front of the car, Dean turned a sharp gaze on his younger brother, to which Sam responded with a sheepish look.

"You know, Sammy, gettin' out of the car with my knee hurting like this is a bitch. Nevermind that I don't really feel like talkin' to Dad right now. You so owe me, bitch."

"Thanks, Dean. I'll make it up to you, I swear," Sam told him earnestly.

"Yeah you will," Dean said, as John opened the door and held out his arm for Dean to grasp. Sam winced with sympathy at the pain that was evident on Dean's face as he slowly pulled himself out of the car, leaning heavily on their dad. As soon as John's attention was occupied, Sam unfastened his seatbelt and leaned over the front seat to grab the car keys out of the ignition. With the keys firmly in his grip, Sam jumped out of the car and hurried to the trunk, eager to grab a book to read before John got Dean back in the car.

"Samuel, get back in the car."

"I will in a sec—I'm just gettin' a book," he called as he lifted the hood of the trunk.

"No, you're not. Get in the car."

"But," Sam began, but his father cut him off.

"Do you honestly think I'm going to reward your behavior just now by letting you get a book out of the trunk?"

"No sir," Sam said reluctantly, his shoulders slumping as he shut the trunk and pulled the keys out. _I just wanted a freakin' book to read. If Dean's not mad, why does Dad have to get all pissy about it? _John held out his hand for the keys and Sam tossed them to him, John catching them easily.

Sam climbed back into the car, slamming the car door shut and slumping against the door miserably. _I don't even have a Walkman like other kids. Dean's got one, but it's in the trunk, too, along with everything else. Dad sucks out loud._ Sam shut his eyes, beginning to work up a good head of steam as he thought about all the injustices of being thirteen and being his father's son. A few minutes later, Sam heard Dean's door open and a split second later, something dropped heavily onto Sam's lap.

Sam opened his eyes to see a large book lying on his lap, and he looked up to see his brother smirking at him even as John frowned.

"Like I said, you owe me, bitch," was all Dean said as he began the painstaking task of getting back in the car, Sam looking on with a growing sense of guilt as he watched his older brother grimace at the pain caused by once again cramming his swollen knee into the front seat.

"Dean, why don't you get in the back, stretch that leg out a bit?" John asked.

"You kiddin' me? First of all, I don't sit in the backseat of my car—won't do it. Second of all, even if I did, which I wouldn't, that'd put you and Sammy in the front together, and then my chances for a peaceful drive go right out the effin' window. So no, I think I'll stay put."

"Alright. Have it your way, then," John said, letting the matter go as he pulled back onto the road, and Dean began to settle back against the door, his eyes once again starting to close. Sam took a moment to be thankful for his older brother before he opened the book that Dean had dropped in his lap. _Dark Creatures of the Occult_ by Milton Westingham, III_. Ok, not my first choice, but I'll give him points for effort. _

"So, Sammy, while I'm sittin' here with my knee throbbing," Dean began, his eyes still closed, "I'm thinking about just what it is that you're gonna owe me. I can't decide...should I force you to listen to my music—oh wait, I already do that. Should I make you do my chores—oh wait, we don't have chores. But then, I guess I could always make you wash my dirty laundry for the next month…"

"Jerk," Sam said playfully, leaning forward to lightly whack his brother across the back of the head.

"Bitch. And I owe you one for that," Dean said, referring to the free hit Sam had just administered. "Just wait until I'm feelin' better," he said threateningly, though Sam mused that it wasn't all that threatening when the person making the threat was starting to slump against the door with a faintly sick expression. Within ten minutes, Dean was once again unconscious, his quiet breathing the only noise to be heard aside from John's music. Sam flipped through the book now held firmly in his lap, perusing it for pictures that looked interesting enough to read about, and hoping the book wasn't as bad as it looked.

"Sam?"

Sam looked up to see his father staring at him in the rearview mirror, his eyes pinning him to the seat.

"Sir?"

"You'd better be damn glad that your brother put up a good argument for you. If he hadn't taken pity on you and stuck up for you, your ass would be grounded right now. So if you want to avoid me changing my mind, I suggest you put that book to good use and read until you fall asleep or we get to where we're going. I don't want another word from you unless you're about to piss all over yourself. Do you understand me?"

"Yes sir," Sam said meekly, knowing that his father meant every word. On a good day, Sam knew just how far he could push his father before trouble ensued, and today, he knew that he'd reached the end of the line. _Guess it's just me and good ole' Milton from here until South Carolina…Please, God, let this book be better than it looks. _

"Oh, and Sam?"

"Sir?"

"I expect you to give me a summary of what you've read by the end of the trip. You're so anxious for something to read, then you're gonna learn from it."

"Yes sir."

_Dammit. Dad takes the fun out of everything, even reading. _

* * *

It was almost midnight when they reached the small town of Manning, South Carolina, and Sam had been dozing for about an hour and a half, the book and his father's flashlight abandoned on the seat beside him. Sensing the car slowing for a turn, he opened his eyes, rubbing at them tiredly before looking out the window to see the familiar sight of a motel parking lot coming into view, the Vacancy sign flashing sporadically.

"Dad, what are we doin' _here_? Aren't we going to get Aubrey and Braden?"

"Your brother's hurtin', Sam. I'm gonna leave the two of you here and go on and get the twins by myself."

"Can't I go with you?" Sam asked, not eager to stay in another motel room if he didn't have to.

"No." Turning the car off, John climbed out and went into the dingy office to rent them a room, leaving Sam to kick at the seat angrily. _If Dean was awake, he'd be begging to go, too, but I bet Dad would let _him_ go. I never get to go anywhere._

A few minutes later, John was back and without a word, he restarted the car, pulling around until he was parked in front of room 17.

"Here, take the key and go ahead and unlock the door. I'm gonna get your brother out and get him in before we worry about unloading anything."

Taking a cue from his father, Sam didn't reply, just grabbed the key from his father's hand and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. _Wonder what _this_ shit-hole looks like_, he wondered darkly, and he pushed the door open to see a room that looked virtually indistinguishable from the hundreds of others they'd stayed in over the years.

"Figures," he murmured. Dropping the key on the scuffed-up dresser, Sam plopped down on the bed closest to the TV, his face settling into an angry sulk. _I bet the TV doesn't even have cable._

"Sam, make yourself useful and go get your bag and Dean's out of the car," John ordered, and Sam looked up to see him coming through the doorway, practically carrying Dean, who looked so out of it that he could scarcely hold himself up.

"Man, Dad, you really got him effed up with all those pills—he can't even stand up straight," Sam said, staring at his brother in wonder.

"Now, Samuel!"

"Alright, alright," Sam said, dragging himself off the bed and heading for the door, watching from the corner of his eye as John helped Dean lay down, pulling Dean's boots and jeans off and dropping them at the foot of the bed, leaving Dean clad in his boxers, socks, and t-shirt.

By the time Sam returned with his and Dean's bags in tow, John was slowly lifting Dean's leg to slide pillows underneath his knee.

"Easy, son, easy," John murmured as Dean groaned, his eyes closed tight with pain despite the ever abundant supply of pain medication coursing through his system. Sam watched, biting his lip, as he watched Dean fight to breathe through the pain. _Ok, I was wrong. I guess Dean sitting on his ass in the car for awhile _was_ a big deal._ John brushed Dean's hair back off his forehead, and Sam couldn't help but think how strange it was to see his father act so gentle. _Yeah, Dad isn't too in touch with his inner girl-side._ As Dean's breathing settled down and his body relaxed, John came to his feet, turning to face Sam.

"Follow me," he said quietly.

Sam did as he was told, following his father out to the car and around to the trunk. John heaved his bag out of the car, and handed it to Sam before slinging a bag of various weapons over his shoulder and tucking the first aid kit and Dean's crutches under one arm while shutting the trunk with the other. Sam followed him back inside, scooting around his father, who had stopped just inside the door and dropped everything but the bag of weapons. John motioned for Sam to follow him back outside, his gaze darting once to Dean, who appeared to be asleep, before walking out and pulling the door almost shut behind Sam. As he shoved the weapons into the front seat of the car, he narrowed his gaze on his younger son.

"Now, listen, I'm leaving you in charge, Sam. Look after your brother, and stay inside."

"Yes sir."

"I'm serious, Sam. I'm counting on you."

"I won't let you down, Dad," Sam told him, his eyes sincere as he gazed back at his father solemnly.

"Here," John said, holding out a .45 caliber handgun which Sam took, tucking it under his t-shirt before looking back up at his father. "Pistol's loaded, so be careful with it. I shouldn't be long. Set out the salt lines and lock the door."

"Yes sir." And with that, John climbed into the car and backed out, and all Sam could do was hurry inside. As he locked the door, he felt a sense of pride well up, proud that his father trusted him to take care of things, to take care of his older brother, while he was gone. He dragged the bags out of the path of the door and made quick work of drawing the salt lines at the door and windows before he finally flopped down on the second bed, only then noticing that his brother was staring at him with bleary eyes.

"Where's Dad?"

"He went to get Aubrey and Braden. He'll be back soon, he said."

"Dammit, he shouldn't have gone alone. What if there's something waiting there for him?"

"Um…there is something waiting there for him—the twins," Sam told him, trying for a bit of humor to head off his brother before he could work himself up into a temper.

"That's not what I mean, Sammy, and you know it! Shit!"

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it _now_. Might as well relax and get some sleep."

"I've done nothing_ but_ sleep since we left Michigan--screw that. Turn the TV on, Sammy." Sam, knowing from his brother's tone that he wasn't going to be placated, did what Dean said, switching the TV on and flipping through the channels idly to see what was on.

"Hey, Dean, look! A_ Jeopardy_ rerun! Can we watch that?"

"Yeah, whatever."

Sensing none of the usual disgust from his older brother, Sam frowned, dropping the remote as he turned to stare at his brother.

"What's wrong, Dean?"

"Nothing."

"It doesn't sound like nothing. You sound pissy."

"Sam, my knee's the size of a bowling ball, and Dad's pushed so many pain pills down my throat that I feel like I'm a step away from floating. If I don't vomit first. I feel like shit—of course I sound pissy! Now turn the volume up and quit yappin'." But Sam knew with a certainty that Dean's knee was not the only thing bothering him. _Yeah, I should have known something was up when Dean said okay to _Jeopardy_. And for him to tell me to turn it up…something's not right with him._

"Dean?"

"What?"

"Are you still mad about Aubrey and Braden?" Sam asked, staring at Dean solemnly.

"Sammy, when are you gonna let it go, already?" Dean asked impatiently.

"When you give me a real answer. So are you mad because we have another brother and sister, or are you mad that Dad was with some other chick besides Mom?" Sam asked insightfully.

"Shut-up, Sam!" Dean said hotly. _Bingo._ Sam had the feeling that it was definitely the latter.

"Hit a nerve, huh?" Sam came over and sat down on the bed beside his older brother, looking down at a small catch in the comforter, pulling at it with his fingers as he avoided his brother's eyes.

"I don't care if my knee's busted, Sammy—if you don't let it go, I swear I'm gonna kick your ass."

"I don't really remember Mom, you know," Sam said softly, almost casually, pretending that he hadn't heard Dean's threat. "But…I think she wouldn't have wanted Dad to be alone. I bet he was only with that chick because he was lonely."

"I don't care, Sam! He shouldn't have done it—he shouldn't have betrayed Mom that way!" Dean exploded, reaching out suddenly and grabbing at the lamp that rested on the bedside table. With a tremendous heave, Dean hurled the lamp at the wall, and Sam winced at the sound of the glass shattering. For a moment, neither of them said anything, the only noise the sound of Dean breathing heavily, his anger spent.

"Dad's an ass sometimes," Sam whispered, "but…I think he deserves to be happy. He shouldn't be alone," he finished, slowly leaving Dean's side as he knelt down on the carpet to pick up the broken pieces of the lamp. Dean didn't reply, and for a long time, the only sound was the muted noise of the TV and the sounds of the lamp shards hitting the inside of the trashcan.

"It's like he's forgotten her, Sammy," Dean murmured, and Sam looked up to see his older brother staring down at him with pain-filled eyes. Sam left the trashcan where it was and slowly climbed up on the bed beside his brother, stealing a pillow from Dean wordlessly and propping it up behind his head.

"Dad wouldn't forget Mom, Dean. I mean, why would he still be doing this, if he didn't still love her?" It felt strange to Sam, to suddenly be the one trying to explain their dad's behavior, to make things better for his brother. _Usually, Dean's trying to make me feel better. I guess now it's my turn._

"Then, why—why did he do it?" Dean asked, his voice cracking a bit as he looked down at his hands, clenched tightly in his lap.

"Because Mom's gone. And everybody gets lonely sometimes," Sam told him softly.

Sensing that Dean wasn't up for any more discussion, Sam said nothing else, sitting silently beside his older brother, the two of them watching the TV flicker in the darkness without a word. Dean slowly fell into a deep sleep, never knowing that his little brother sat beside him, fiercely protective. _It'll be ok, Dean. You'll see. _

_­_

* * *

­­­­­­­­­­A/N: For those of you who are beginning to wonder if you'll ever meet the twins, don't worry! They make their first appearance in the next chapter! Let me know what you thought of this one!


	4. First Impressions

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 4: First Impressions

John cut the engine in front of a small house nestled among a cluster of trees set back from the road. By now, it was almost two in the morning, and the house was dark except for a small light in what he assumed was the kitchen. _Because no way would two eight-year-olds alone in a house leave the lights off in the room they were in. And I told them to stay in the kitchen, so that should be where the light's coming from…It had better be._

Reaching across the seat, John grabbed a flask of holy water and a pistol, shoving the former into his back pocket while he tucked the latter into his pants and tugged his shirt over it. _Not that there's likely to be anyone out here at this time of night to see me, but I'm not taking any chances. People see a man holding a gun and sneaking up towards a house at two in the morning and they're liable to get the wrong idea_, he mused, catching hints of the same sarcasm that often laced his oldest son's verbalizations.

With a deep breath, John silently stepped out of the car, shutting the door quietly behind him. Bypassing the sidewalk, he cut across the yard and came around to the side of the house, easily spotting the side door that accessed the kitchen. With a quick glance around the yard, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed the last number he'd received a call from. Inside, he heard the phone began to ring and, a second later, the sound of small feet running to pick it up.

"Hello?"

John smiled at the sound of Aubrey's voice, because as scared as she was, he knew they were safe now.

"Sweetheart, it's your daddy—I'm at the kitchen door. Can you come let me in?"

"Braden, our daddy's here," he heard her say excitedly, and he couldn't help but smile at the eager happiness in her voice, something he hadn't gotten for a long time. Dean was too old to express such a sentiment, and Sam usually wasn't too excited to see him these days. He heard the phone drop, and he turned his own off as the door opened and he suddenly came face to face with two virtually indistinguishable faces staring up at him.

"Daddy!" The little girl rushed forward, her arms coming up around his waist as she buried her face in his stomach, and John couldn't help but hug her back, realizing suddenly that he'd missed this, having a child rush up to greet him without any reserve or resentment. He picked her up, cradling her in one arm as his youngest son stepped into the doorway, blinking up at him solemnly. After a moment, Braden moved back, allowing his father to come inside before quickly shutting and locking the door behind them.

John set Aubrey down, staring down at her for a long moment, wondering once again what he was going to do with a daughter. Braden came forward to stand beside her, and the two of them stood there, looking up at him with identical eyes. They both had hair so dark that it was almost black, not unlike John's own, but where Braden's was short and spiked in the front, Aubrey's was long and wavy, falling to below her shoulders. While he could certainly see Elaine in them, John admitted to a certain amount of pride in the fact that they strongly resembled him. 

_Yeah, the freckles are all me. Those damn freckles—always hated having 'em, but at least they fade somewhat with age. Dean sure was glad to know that,_ he mused, remembering a long ago day when Mary had told a three-year-old Dean where those freckles came from. Dean had quickly announced that he would never forgive his father for giving him the 'spots' on his face. _Kid didn't talk to me for days. _No, the light spattering of freckles across the twins' noses definitely marked them as John's, for they certainly hadn't inherited them from their mother. _Winchesters, through and through, both of 'em. If I thought I needed proof of parentage before I saw 'em, I sure as hell don't now. _

They both wore pajamas, Aubrey's consisting of light pink shorts and a matching t-shirt covered with cartoon princesses. _Ah, could be worse—she could be wearing something with those ugly-as-hell Barbie dolls they advertise on TV all over her. _Braden's pajamas consisted of dark gray shorts and a black t-shirt bearing a picture of Batman_. At least Braden's got some taste…_

As he finished his cursory examination of them, he realized that they were doing the same thing, staring at him as though trying to see how the man before them could be their father.

"You two alright?" he asked.

"Yes sir," Aubrey said softly as Braden nodded beside her.

"So nothing else has happened since your mom disappeared," John said, certain of it but wanting verification before he proceeded further. Aubrey shook her head, and John stared down at the two of them for a long moment, considering the innocent, worried expressions on the faces as they stared back at him curiously.

_I hate to think that my kids could be used against me, but I don't know them, and this could all be some elaborate trap to get to me…I can't afford to take any chances. _Moving slowly, he reached for the flask of holy water nestled in his pocket.

"Here, take a sip of this and then pass it to your brother," he said, holding it out to Aubrey.

"What is it?" she asked as she took it from his outstretched hand.

"Just water, that's all," John told her lightly. She gave him an odd look but did as he asked, taking a swig and swallowing before passing the flask to Braden, who did the same. When nothing happened, John let out a sigh of relief. _Making sure your children aren't possessed--something every good parent should test for,_ John thought with a smirk, and it occurred to him not for the first time how similar his sense of humor was to his oldest son's. _Hell, no wonder he's a smart ass—he inherited it from me. 'Course, I like to think I control it a bit more.._.

As Braden handed him the flask back, he sobered, well aware that despite the fact that his children were safely un-possessed, there was still a chance that something could still be in the house, or at the very least, whatever had attacked Elaine could have left traces behind that could give John a clue as to what it was._ Yeah, cut the sarcasm, John, and stay cautious. Never know what might turn up. _

"Alright," he told the twins, "we need to get moving. I wanna take a look around before we leave, but it shouldn't take me long."

"Can we come with you?" she asked, looking at him with a set of eyes that matched her brother's perfectly.

"Just wait here, alright? I'll only be a few minutes," he said, patting her shoulder reassuringly before straightening up and walking toward the door only to stop when he stepped on something, hearing it snap beneath his boot.

"Oops. Braden left his crayon out," Aubrey said, staring up at him apologetically, but when John looked at Braden, the little boy simply shrugged, not bothering to apologize, though whether it was because Aubrey had already done so or because he could care less, John wasn't certain. With a sigh, he lifted his foot off the offending object, and Braden darted forward to pick up the pieces as John started down the hall.

"Stay put," he called over his shoulder as he reached the first door on the left. Pulling out the pistol, he nudged the door open with his foot, not really expecting to see anything, but unwilling to take any chances. _Never let your guard down._ The bathroom was clear, so he moved to the next door, knowing instinctively that something was wrong with the room even before he opened the door. Missouri's words from a meeting years ago came back to him: _"Evil leaves a psychic residue behind, John Winchester, and even the most head-blind people can sense it when they walk into a room where something evil dwelled. So you pay attention to what your gut tells you."_ _God, please don't let me find their mother's body in here. _

Chills swept over him, and he could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he walked into what was obviously Elaine's bedroom. The scent of sulfur lingered, and John was left to wonder once again how Braden could possibly have known what it was. He checked the windows, frowning when he glimpsed the light dusting of yellowy sulfur on the window sill. Aside from a mysterious scorch mark on the floor, there was nothing else, no other trace of Elaine or the demon who'd taken her. _The odds of finding anything at this point are slim, but maybe a closer look will turn up something. First things first, though—I gotta get my children out of here, in case whatever it was decides to come back. Assuming of course that it left in the first place,_ he thought grimly, wondering vaguely if whatever demonic entity had taken Elaine could still be lurking in the house, despite the lack of any further activity.

Shutting the door behind him, he pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, wiping his prints clean from the doorknob before moving on to the next door, this one on the right. He opened the door using the handkerchief and walked into a bedroom that was unmistakably Aubrey's.

_That's it—I'm in hell_, he thought, staring in something akin to morbid fascination at the sheer amount of pink frills and dolls littering the room. _There's no way in hell she can take all of this shit with us, and thank God for that. _Spotting nothing out of the ordinary about his daughter's bedroom, he moved on to the next, opening the door to reveal a more subdued bedroom that had bunk-beds nestled amidst the "cowboys-and-Indians" decor as well as what was obviously the Nintendo that Sam had been begging for since its appearance on the market.

After a cursory glance, he was just about to close the door when something caught his eye. Stepping further into the room, he strode over to the partially-open closet door and knelt down, pushing it shut with his boot only to step back, stunned, at the sight that greeted him.

There, in red crayon akin to the one he'd stepped on in the kitchen, was a pentagram surrounded by an intricate array of symbols and Latin drawn in a child's handwriting. _A protective ward. Someone drew a damn ward on the closet door_, he thought with growing disbelief._ How in the hell…_

"Aubrey, Braden—come here," he called and he heard them running down the hall, appearing in the doorway a second later. "Which one of you did this?" he asked, trying to curb the natural harshness of his voice as he addressed them. He was pretty sure he knew the answer before they responded, but he sincerely hoped he was wrong, even though he knew deep down it had to have been one of them.

"Braden did it," Aubrey said proudly. _Yahtzee._ "It's pretty, isn't it?" she said fondly, reaching out to stroke the bright crayon marks while Braden looked on with a critical eye. "Braden doesn't think it's as good, but _I_ like it."

"Son, how did you know how to draw this?" John asked, crouching down to look his son in the eye. Braden shrugged, meeting John's eyes fearlessly, even as he said nothing.

"Did you see it in a book or something?"

Braden shook his head, and John sighed, frustration beginning to build at the lack of answers.

"He draws them all the time, Daddy. See?" Aubrey said helpfully, pulling John towards a shelf in the corner where she removed a Crayola sketchbook and handed it to him, opening it as John held it in his hands. As she began to flip through the pages, pointing to each drawing, John stared with growing alarm as he beheld page after page of complicated symbols, each one containing drawings of wards, Latin phrases in a child's script, as well as what looked like Aramaic symbols, and even devil's traps. _Bobby would shit a brick if he saw this. Question is, how much does the boy know about what's he got here? _

"Mama used to get real mad at Bray for drawin' 'em," Aubrey continued, "'cause he used to draw 'em on the walls and stuff instead of on paper, and Bray used to get in a lot of trouble. But he finally talked Mama into lettin' him keep the one on the closet, so long as he didn't draw any more of 'em on the other walls."

John didn't respond, a worried frown on his face as he stared uneasily at the images before him. Tucking the book under his arm, John shuffled the twins out of the room, anxious now to get back to the motel.

"Alright, let's get your stuff and get out of here."

They led the way back to the kitchen, immediately beginning to drag duffel bags, backpacks, pillows, and sleeping bags toward the door. John winced at the sheer amount of stuff they were bringing with them, but he lacked the energy to try and pare it down to essentials, so he heaved a sigh and knelt to grab the heaviest bags, which he was grateful to note felt like nothing but clothing. _At least they knew well enough to pack more clothes than junk._ Cradling their backpacks and pillows in their arms, they followed him out to the car, dropping their stuff by the trunk and hurrying back to the house for the last bits while John started to load the trunk. It wasn't until Braden came out carrying a cage that John suddenly frowned.

"What is _that_?" he asked, staring down into the cage with obvious displeasure.

"Boo. He's our hamster," Braden said quietly, uttering the first words John had heard him speak since he met him. He held up the cage for John to get a better look, and all John could do was stare at the little rodent crouched inside as he felt a headache beginning to develop.

"I don't do pets, Braden."

"Daddy, we can't leave him behind!" Aubrey cried, coming over to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with her brother. "What if the thing that took Mama comes back and tries to get Boo, too?! We hafta take him with us!" she told him, her eyes filling with tears as she stared up at him. Braden looked down, staring at Boo sadly, and John could tell the little boy was fighting tears of his own. _Dammit. They're gonna guilt-trip me into taking this damn rodent with us. And there's no way I can tell them no, not after they've lost their mom…_

_Shit. _

"Fine. Just put it in the car. Now, do you both have everything? Toothbrushes, underwear, socks, all that shit?"

"We think so, Daddy," Aubrey said, wiping the tears from her face as she watched Braden set Boo's cage in the backseat of the car.

"Aubrey, did you get Mouse?" Braden whispered, and John closed his eyes as Aubrey stopped to think. _I'm not a man who likes to beg, God, but for this I'm willing to make an exception. Please…don't let Mouse be another pet. Please. Cut me some slack here, just this once._

"Aubrey, who is Mouse?" John asked, almost fearful of the answer.

"My pink stuffed elephant. He's in my bag."

_Thank you, God._

Though John had never considered himself an overly religious man, he realized that he was talking to God more now than he ever had before, and he couldn't help but shake his head ruefully. _I've been brought to my knees by two eight-year-olds…Why do I get the feeling that I'm gonna need all the divine intervention I can get to deal with two teenagers and a set of twins? My life has gone completely down the shitter, and now I'm dealing with a demon, an injured seventeen-year-old, a moody thirteen-year-old, a matched set of eight-year-olds—one of which is a girl--and a stuffed elephant named Mouse…oh, and let's not forget the damn hamster. _

_Shit._

"Fine. Get in the car, and buckle up. I'm gonna go lock the house."

"Oh, wait, Daddy—I forgot to get my jacket!" Aubrey cried, shoving the pile of stuff she was holding into his arms and hurrying back towards the house.

"Aubrey, the temperature is gonna be in upper nineties tomorrow—you don't need a jacket."

"But what if I get cold in the car?" she asked, staring up at him with a puppy-dog face that was all too reminiscent of Sam's. John looked at Braden, hoping like hell for some support from the little boy, but Braden was paying no attention as he calmly pulled the seatbelt around him and buckled up.

"Fine. Go get the damn jacket," John grumbled, scrubbing at his face tiredly.

"I want you to come with me," she said, her voice pleading as she reached for his hand.

"Look, why don't we just forget the jacket—I don't want to leave your brother out here in the car alone," he told her, figuring that his response was entirely reasonable. But to an eight-year-old girl, it apparently wasn't reasonable enough.

"Daddy, I can't just leave it," she told him, her hands on her hips as she shook her head at him. "Braden, come on! We have to go back inside to get my jacket!" she said, turning to motion to her brother, who was already unbuckling and sliding out of the car before John could stop them. With an annoyed sigh, he followed the two of them back into the house, waiting impatiently as he listened to Aubrey ramble around in her closet with Braden tiredly helping her.

"Aubrey, let's move it!" John yelled impatiently.

"I found it, Daddy!" she called back. _Thank God,_ was all John could think as he started for the door. "Wait, I forgot my pillow!" she yelled.

"You already put it in the car, Aubrey," John called back.

"No, not _that_ one, my other one!" Rolling his eyes heavenward, John prayed for patience as he felt his blood-pressure beginning to rise.

"Just grab it, and let's go!" he hollered down the hall. Braden peeked out of his sister's room, casting an understanding smile at John before disappearing back into her room.

"Braden, where's my book, the one that has all the princesses in it?" John heard Aubrey ask, and though Braden didn't answer, John heard books suddenly falling to the floor and he had a feeling that Braden had just pulled a ton of them off the shelves. "Didja find it?" she was asking.

"Nope," John heard Braden say softly, and John cringed, shaking his head ruefully as he went down the hall and into Aubrey's room, only to suppress a heartfelt curse as he watched them tear the room apart in search of a book.

"Look, guys—"

"Daddy, I can't find it anywhere—it's my favorite!"

"Why didn't you look for it hours ago?" John asked, not even certain he wanted an answer as he felt the blood pounding in his ears and the corresponding throb in his head.

"You told us to stay in the kitchen, Daddy," she told him, staring up at him pointedly. "Mama gave it to me, and it's my favorite book, and she'd be mad if I lost it," she said earnestly. Ignoring the argument, Braden walked over to a pile of books wordlessly and shoved it over, spreading them out on the floor to more effectively dig through it.

_Shit. _

Moving over to the second bookshelf, John began to scan the shelves, preparing to look for anything promising, only to realize that just about every book on the damn shelf was princess-oriented. _Oh hell_. They searched for twenty minutes, Aubrey under the bed as John and Braden continued to pull books off the shelves, John holding them up for inspection only to be told by one twin or the other that it wasn't the right one. Suddenly, Aubrey popped out from under the bed with a happy smile on her face.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot—I put it in my bag already." John let the stack of books he held in his hands drop to the floor as Braden stifled a laugh.

"Just go get in the damn car," John said with a weary sigh, having reached the end of his rope. _You're killin' me here, God. Killin' me. If she says she forgot one more thing, I'm gonna lose it. _

"You mad at me, Daddy?" she asked softly, her face falling as it finally seemed to occur to her that John was a step away from completely losing his temper.

"I'm tired, Aubrey. I've been driving all day to get here, and it's pretty damn late. I just need you to get it together and go get in the car."

With a small nod, Aubrey gathered up the pillow and the jacket, wordlessly adding a Barbie doll as she hurried toward John without looking at him, only pausing when she stood right before him.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't mean to, I swear," she told him, staring down at her feet pitifully. _Damn, if she can bring me to my knees with that shit, then I'm in trouble_, he thought as he stared down at her, feeling his anger melt away. As if she sensed him caving, she suddenly hugged him tight, her small arms around his waist._ Yep, I don't have a damn clue what to do with a girl, and I'm in trouble._ It was moments like this that John Winchester wondered what the hell he could have done to piss off the Man Upstairs. He ruffled Aubrey's hair before gently propelling her out the door. Braden shoved past the now rather large mess on the floor and hurried after his sister, leaving John to follow in their wake, wishing for nothing more than eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

By the time he got to the car, Braden looked as though he was already asleep, and Aubrey wasn't too far behind. Starting the car, he pulled away from the house, glancing in the rearview to see Aubrey staring sadly at the house from the window, fighting back tears. He didn't have the heart to tell her that it was probably going to be the last time she saw it. _With their mother missing, if I were to suddenly show up with them, people would start asking_ _questions. We can't afford that kind of attention. No, best just to disappear for good. Thank God it's summer and I don't have to deal with them being in school right now._ Lost in thought, John thought Aubrey had finally fallen asleep, but glimpsing movement, he looked in the rearview mirror to find her staring at him.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you came to get us," she said, stifling a yawn. "You'll keep us safe, right?"

"Yeah, baby, I'll keep you safe," he told her, smiling reassuringly back at her before turning his attention back to the road.

"Where are we going?"

"Motel. It's about half an hour from here. Your brothers are waiting there for us."

"We have brothers?" she asked, and John chuckled at the sound of awe in her voice.

"Yeah."

"Braden, guess what!" she said excitedly, nudging her brother's shoulder to wake him up, an action which was not looked upon favorably by the tired little boy. "Daddy says we have brothers!" Braden was obviously not as impressed with this fact as his sister, because he simply grunted a wordless reply and went back to sleep. "How many, Daddy?"

"How many what?"

"Brothers. How many do we got?"

"Two. Dean and Sam."

"How old are they? Are they bigger than us or littler?"

"They're older. Dean's seventeen and Sammy's thirteen."

"Oh…They're kinda old, huh? Do you think they'll like me?" she asked worriedly.

"I'm sure you've got nothing to worry about."

"Daddy?"

"Yes?" he asked with a sigh.

"Are you gonna find Mama?"

"I'm gonna try, Aubrey. I can't promise you anything, but I'm gonna do the best I can."

He knew his answer probably wasn't what she wanted to hear, but it seemed to satisfy her, because she leaned back against door and fell quiet, and John could only hope that he could keep his word. Something told him that finding Elaine was going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack the size of Cleveland.

* * *

The motel parking lot was quiet and still when John pulled in and turned the car off. Aubrey stirred, her eyes blinking open to stare owlishly around, still half-asleep.

"Are we here?"

"Yeah, sweetheart. Why don't you grab Boo and your backpack, and I'll get the other stuff. Is Braden awake?"

"No sir, he's still asleep. He's real tired." With a weary sigh, John shoved his door open, coming around the car and easing Braden's door open, blocking the opening with his body in case the boy had slumped against the door and was in danger of falling. Reaching in, he unbuckled Braden's seatbelt and carefully lifted him out, cradling the child's head so as not to hit it on the door frame as he slowly straightened. With Braden hanging limply in his arms and Aubrey at his side, he crossed to the door of Room 17 and twisted the key in the lock, Aubrey pushing past him to nudge open the door with her shoulder, her hands full on account of Boo's cage. John immediately shoved her behind him, turning his shoulder to block Braden as he was rewarded by the sound of a gun being cocked.

"It's me," he said calmly, even as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the room.

"Oh, sorry, Dad," Sam's sleep-laden voice called out softly in the dark. A lamp clicked on and John blinked in the sudden light before focusing his gaze on the thirteen-year-old who was now sitting up in the bed he shared with Dean, the pistol in his lap as his older brother still slumbered beside him.

"Don't apologize, son—that's what I trained you to do. You did well," John replied, giving Sam a smile as he gently propelled Aubrey inside, his arm settling on her shoulder comfortingly as he shut the door behind him with his boot.

"Sam, this is Aubrey. Aubrey, that's your brother Sam."

She peered at Sam worriedly, shifting Boo's cage awkwardly to one arm so that she could give him a small wave, which he responded to with a smile.

"Whatcha got, Aubrey?" Sam asked quietly, looking curiously at the cage she still held clenched in her hands.

"Boo. He's our hamster," she said softly.

"Can I see?" Sam asked, and John watched her shoulders relax, the tension leaving her little body as she walked over to Sam with a smile. _It's good to know that Sam's only bitchy with me. He seems easy-going enough with his sister, so maybe this will work out after all._ He stood there for another moment, watching them, their heads together as they bent over the cage.

"We've never had a pet before—Dad wouldn't let us," he heard Sam murmur as he gently laid Braden down on the second bed before turning back to face Aubrey and Sam.

"Sam."

"Sir?" Sam asked, looking up from where he was watching Aubrey pick Boo up and cuddle him in her hands.

"How's your brother?"

"Um…he's been asleep for awhile now."

_He hasn't stirred at all since we came in—that's not like him._ He walked across the room, leaning over Sam and Aubrey to Dean's side of the bed, which for once, wasn't the side closest to the door. _Can't believe he actually let me put him down on this side—normally, he pitches a fit about always wanting to be between Sammy and the door. Can't say that I blame him…I trained him to look after Sam, and if he gets a little obsessed about it, I guess I can't really complain._ Reaching over, he placed the back of his hand against Dean's forehead, frowning when he felt the heat emanating off of him.

"Shit."

"What's the matter, Dad?"

"He feels warm."

"Do you want me to grab the thermometer from the first aid kit?" Sam asked worriedly, looking down at his brother before glancing back up at John.

"Nah. I don't want to wake him right now. He's only a bit warm. I'll check on him in the morning—it's possible that he'll sleep it off. Why don't you give me a hand getting their stuff out of the car, and then we can all get some sleep?"

"Sure." Throwing the covers off, he followed John out to the car, stepping carefully in his bare feet, before reaching into the trunk to haul sleeping bags, pillows, and duffel bags in without complaint. In a surprising gesture of altruism considering his interactions with John as of late, Sam took the initiative to unroll the twins' sleeping bags, even tucking Aubrey in as John did the same with Braden.

Stripping down to his boxers and undershirt, John turned off the light and fell into his bed, relaxing for the first time since receiving news of the twins, content with the knowledge that, for the moment, all of his children were safe.

* * *

Sensing a presence beside him, John felt a rush of adrenaline race through him, and his eyes shot open as he reached instinctively for the gun under his pillow. Only to stop when he saw the small figure looming over him.

"Daddy?" Aubrey whispered, staring down at him with her lower lip trembling.

"Aubrey, what is it?" he asked her tiredly, glancing at the clock and letting his head fall back to the pillow wearily. _Dammit, I've only been asleep for an hour. _

"I'm scared. Can I sleep with you?"

"Aubrey," he began, but she kept going, twisting the hem of her t-shirt nervously around her fingers.

"I was gonna ask Sam, but there's no room, 'cause he's sleepin' with Dean. And I can't sleep with Braden, 'cause he's in his sleeping bag…I don't wanna sleep by myself, 'cause somethin' might get me," she said tearfully.

With a resigned sigh, John pushed down the blankets beside him, and with a happy smile, she climbed in, crawling over John until she was nestled against his side. With a shake of his head, John pulled the blanket back up until it was draped over her shoulders. Slowly, he dropped his arm around her, pulling her close. _If I wasn't so damn tired, I could handle this better, but for now, this will have to do._

Only five minutes had passed when he felt the mattress dip, and he opened his eyes to see Braden crawling in beside his sister, shoving the blanket down so he could slip in and falling back asleep before he'd even pulled it back up. With a rueful shake of his head, John reached over and dragged the sheet over his son, watching with a smile as Braden unconsciously mirrored his sister, assuming the same curled-up position, his back to his sister's, his hands tucked under the pillow he shared with her. _So much for the sleeping bags. _He smiled, casting a look at Sam and Dean, who were both still asleep, before once again succumbing to sleep.

* * *

A/N: Ok, so now that you've seen the twins, what do you think? Please let me know if it's worthwhile to continue this fic, as I don't want to keep writing if no one is really interested. To those of you who have reviewed, thanks so much!!

**missmadeleine2002:** I didn't get to email a response back to you for Chapter 2, as you weren't signed in when you left me a review. So here it is! Thanks for reviewing for me—I really appreciate it! I hope this chapter was everything you expected out of the twins' meeting with their father. Lots of family angst and fluff to come, so stay tuned!

**zuimar**: Thanks for reviewing for me. Hope you like where I'm taking you so far. Lots of family-oriented chapters ahead, but don't worry, I've got a plot in mind!

**lilgurlgreen**: Glad you're liking the story so far—hope you like this chapter as well! Thanks for reviewing!!

**anybody-out-there**: Hey, I forgot to mention when we were emailing back and forth that I was glad to hear that you loved Chapter 3. Hope you like this one as well!

**timetowaste247**: Hope you're still with me—I couldn't remember if I emailed you back after you reviewed Chapters 1 and 2 for me, so I figured I'd just drop you a line here. Thanks so much for taking the time to review for me—it meant a lot to me. Anyways, I hope you're enjoying the story!


	5. Monsters and Mayhem

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: I would love to know what you all think of the story, so feel free to review :)

Chapter 5: Monsters and Mayhem

"Sam."

Hearing his name, Sam turned his head toward the sound of his father's voice, hoping tiredly that his father would be satisfied enough with the motion that Sam wouldn't have to actually open his eyes. He was nestled comfortably amidst the sheet and bedspread, and the familiar weight of his brother was behind him, Dean for once staying on his own side instead of sprawling across the whole bed.

"Samuel."

_Shit. I guess it was too much to hope that he would leave me alone and let me sleep for a little longer._ Blinking his eyes open blearily, Sam saw his father, fully dressed, leaning over him to reach under Dean's pillow.

"Sir?" Sam grumbled, watching with bleary eyes as his father carefully removed the knife that Dean always kept hidden under his pillow and straightened, slipping it into the bedside table drawer before turning his gaze back to Sam.

"I'm gonna make a breakfast run. I checked Dean's temperature, and he's a bit warm, but it's manageable. I need you to keep an eye on him and the twins while I'm gone. Keep the door locked, and no one goes outside, do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Sam mumbled, wondering why he'd even bothered to really wake up. _It's the same damn lecture every time he goes out. 'Don't go outside. Lock the door.' C'mon, Dad, don't you think that after a lifetime of hearing it, I'd get it? Why did you have to freakin' wake me up to tell me that?_

"Don't go back to sleep until I get back, understand? Anything could happen while you lay here oblivious."

"Alright, Dad, I get it," Sam snapped back, letting his annoyance be known in the tone of his voice.

"Watch the attitude, son," John told him, casting a stern look at him before he continued. "I won't be long," he said, picking up his keys from the besides table and starting for the door.

"Daddy, where are you going?"

Sam turned to see Aubrey sitting up, wiping her eyes sleepily before casting a worried look at their father.

"Just to get breakfast. I'll be back soon."

"No, don't go!" she cried, hurtling out of bed and throwing herself at John, wrapping her arms around his waist, and Sam quickly shifted his gaze to his father. _Wonder how he's gonna handle this one—he's never had clingy kids before._

"Aubrey, I won't be gone long—go back to bed."

"I wanna come with you! Please, Daddy, don't leave me!" she cried, tears welling in her eyes.

"Aubrey, I'll take good care of you," Sam said, trying to ease his sister's obvious fear. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"No, I wanna go with Daddy! Please, Daddy," she sobbed.

"Dad?" Dean said groggily, the noise rousing him from his fever and drug-induced sleep.

"It's alright, Dean—go back to sleep," John said reassuringly, and with a sigh, he lifted Aubrey into his arms and dropped her gently in Sam's lap. "Aubrey, you're gonna stay here with your brothers—you'll be fine, and I'll be back in a bit," he said, his voice making it clear that the matter was closed. Aubrey watched him go tearfully before burying her face in Sam's t-shirt.

"He's gonna disappear and not come back, just like Mama," she cried.

_Thanks a lot, Dad,_Sam thought angrily as he patted her back awkwardly. _What am_I _supposed to do with her? _A quick glance told him that Dean had fallen back to sleep, and Braden hadn't stirred a bit. _This sucks—my little sister is flipping out, and I have no idea what to do about it. _

"Aub, Dad's really good at taking care of himself. Nothing's gonna happen to him, and he'll be back in no time, just wait," he told her softly, glancing back at Dean to make sure that she hadn't woken him up. "C'mon, Aubrey, please stop crying," he begged. "You're gonna wake Dean up, and he's no fun when you wake him up—trust me."

She turned her head, casting a look at Dean before sliding out of Sam's lap to sit beside him, her feet dangling off the edge of the bed as her sobs slowly subsided into sniffles.

"Do you wanna watch some TV?" Sam asked cautiously, afraid that she'd break into tears again at any moment if he said the wrong thing. She nodded wordlessly, and with a sigh of relief, Sam grabbed the remote and turned the TV on, hoping it would keep her occupied until their dad got back with breakfast. _Aw, man, I should have asked him where he was going. I'd kill for a Hardees sausage biscuit. Or those awesome hashbrown thingies…Better not bet on that, though—Dad never goes to Hardees, unless I beg and Dean backs me up. _

"Sam, can you change the channel?" Aubrey asked, interrupting his reverie. "Can you find some cartoons?"

"I'll try. But you know, it's a weekday morning, and it's getting kind of late…"_Not to mention this shit-hole doesn't have cable_. "There's probably not going to be any good cartoons on," he told her, knowing from experience that only the baby shows would be on. _Or those old-people shows, like _Matlock_ and that stupid one about the old lady that solves all those murders in her creepy-ass town of psycho killers. _Keeping the volume low, he channel-surfed, quickly running through the few channels the TV had, but it became pretty clear to both of them that they weren't likely to find anything worthwhile to watch. _Nothing on but stupid buy-crap-you-don't-need shows and infomercials._

With a sleepy yawn, Aubrey scooted backwards, forcing Sam to move over so that she could snuggle under the covers.

"Aubrey?"

Sam and Aubrey both turned to see Braden sitting up, rubbing his eyes the same way Aubrey had a mere fifteen minutes before as he looked around for his sister.

"I'm over here, Braden," Aubrey whispered. "I'm watching TV with Sam. He's our brother—I met him last night while you were sleeping, and he's real nice."

Wordlessly, Braden slid off the bed and came around to stand next to Aubrey.

"I wanna watch, too," Braden said softly. Aubrey turned her head to look at Sam, a hopeful expression on her face, but Sam shook his head.

"We'll have to move to the other bed—there's not enough room for all of us in this one, not without pushing Dean over, and there's no way we can wake him up to do that."

Braden hurried back to the other bed, jumping back in with his sister right on his heels. They slid over simultaneously, making room for Sam, and he smiled, pleased that they didn't mind including him, even though they barely knew him.

"C'mon, Sam, find something good on TV," Aubrey said excitedly, her earlier distress forgotten now that her twin brother was awake.

Flipping the channel once again, Sam found an old black-and-white movie playing, and he grinned, pleased that he'd managed to find something worth watching.

"Hey, guys, _The Creature from the Black Lagoon _is on! Let's watch this—it's a great movie," Sam told them excitedly.

"But, Sam, it's black-and-white," Aubrey said, obviously not impressed, and judging from Braden's expression, neither was he.

"C'mon, just watch for a little while—it's good, I promise."

The twins shared a look before reluctantly agreeing, and Sam settled back against his Dad's pillow with a smile of contentment. _Too bad Dean isn't awake—he'd like this one. He'd be trying to figure out which of Dad's weapons would best kill the Creature. _The music grew menacing, and Sam grinned when Aubrey's hand closed around his arm as she anxiously waited for something to happen.

"Sammy?" Dean mumbled, and Sam looked up to see Dean stirring, his arm sweeping the bed in search of his younger brother.

"I'm over here, Dean," Sam called out, and as though that was all the reassurance he needed that his brother was safe, Dean stilled.

"'Kay," Dean mumbled, his body relaxing once more into sleep.

The sound of a key in the door made Sam jerk suddenly, unfortunately at the exact same moment that something scary happened on the screen. The combination caused Aubrey to scream just as the door opened and John walked in with breakfast.

John almost dropped the bags of food and the cardboard drink holder, even as Dean shot up in bed, reaching under his pillow for his knife, the very same knife that John had had the foresight to remove before he'd left. _Damn, he's good,_ Sam thought, shaking his head with a smile. Some of the tension left Dean's body as he saw their father standing there, and Aubrey and Braden fought back giggles at the humor of the situation.

"You scared us, Daddy," Aubrey said with a laugh.

"And that's why you shouldn't be watching that kind of movie," John replied pointedly, but there was a smile on his face when he spoke, and he couldn't completely squelch his amusement.

"Where's my knife?" Dean asked darkly, ignoring everyone but his father, his voice thick from sleep.

"Relax," John said, setting their breakfast onto the small table by the window before turning to face his oldest. "I put it somewhere safe."

_Yeah, Dad, like the bedside table drawer is 'safe,' _Sam thought sarcastically as he looked at his older brother. _Maybe it's sort of a distraction…not really a good one, though, 'cause it sure as hell won't take him long to find the knife in the drawer, and then there'll be nothing stopping him from spotting the twins...I wonder how long it'll take him to notice them..._

"I need my knife, Dad," Dean was saying, his feverish eyes focused solely on his father, and it was obvious from the look he was giving him that he didn't appreciate his father's action.

"Dean, you're running a fever, and it's like I've always told you boys, it's never a good idea to be armed when that's the case—that's how accidents happen, son. Now, how're you feeling?" John asked, changing the subject and effectively bringing an end to what would no doubt have turned into an argument.

"I'm fine." Sam was pretty sure that that was a load of bull, judging from how flushed Dean's face looked, and the funny look in his eyes. _Come on, Dad, you're not gonna believe that, are you?_

"Don't bullshit me, Dean. Are you feeling bad—yes or no?"

"A bit," Dean muttered, staring at his father grudgingly, and Sam turned away, fighting a smile. _Yeah, Dean says he's feeling a bit bad, but what he really means is that he feels like shit. If I didn't know any better, I'd believe it, but I know him too well, and so does Dad. He knows when Dean is feeding him a load of crap._

"One of you go and get the first-aid kit out of the bathroom," John ordered, and Sam started to get to his feet, but Aubrey beat him to it.

"I'll get it, Daddy!"

And that's when his brother finally noticed the twins, Sam knew, because Dean's eyes widened momentarily as he looked past their Dad to see Aubrey running eagerly toward the bathroom where the first-aid kit had been stashed. Meanwhile, Braden, who had apparently decided to eat rather than involve himself, had taken the initiative to sit down at the table and start pulling out wrapped biscuits from the bags that John had returned with.

"How long have they been here?" Dean asked softly, his eyes narrowing on the twins before he looked to his father for an answer.

"Since late last night—you were dead to the world, kiddo," John replied, sweeping Dean's hair back from his forehead with a gentle hand, and Sam knew that his dad was hoping that Dean's question meant that he was okay with everything, that he was willing to give it a chance. But Sam also recognized that Dean was still far from okay with everything that had happened, and as Aubrey began to run back toward them, all emotion leaked away from Dean's face, leaving him with a blank expression that Sam had come to know well over the course of his life.

_I hate when he does that. He's just like Dad—he just shuts off. _Sam knew the emotion was there, but Dean had buried it, just like he buried everything else he didn't want to deal with or talk about. And there was nothing John or Sam could do about it.

"I found it, Daddy—here it is," Aubrey announced, hopping up on the bed beside Dean and passing the first-aid kit across him to John. "I'm sure you'll feel better soon," she told Dean, bouncing on the bed a bit as she spoke to him excitedly.

"How about you do me a favor and stop bouncing on the bed before I puke," Dean said, his jaw clenched, though whether it was from nausea or anger, Sam couldn't tell. Aubrey's face fell at the rebuke, and she slid off the bed, biting her lip as she turned away and went to sit down with Braden, putting her back to them.

"C'mon, Dean, you didn't have to be like that," Sam told his brother with a frown. "You hurt her feelings."

"Was anybody talking to you?" Dean snapped back, but before Sam could think of a comeback, John gave both of them a warning look as he pulled the thermometer out of the first-aid kit.

"Not a word, either of you. Dean, put this under your tongue and leave it there until I say otherwise, clear?"

With a scowl, Dean put the tip of the thermometer in his mouth, glaring at his younger brother before abruptly turning away, throwing an arm up over his eyes.

"Sam, go eat. Just make sure you all save some for me and your brother."

As Sam nodded, he started towards the table, reaching out gratefully for the biscuit that Braden was offering him only to slow as a high-pitched metallic sort of squeak began to fill the room.

"What the hell?" Dean asked, the thermometer dropping from his mouth as he suddenly grabbed the pistol from under Sam's pillow.

"It's nothing, son," John said firmly, looking more concerned about Dean having a gun in his hand than the noise. "Put the gun down," he told him, casting a dark look at Sam, who got the message loud and clear. '_Why the hell did you leave a loaded weapon where Dean could get his hands on it?'_

_Whoops. _John had made it pretty clear to Sam that he didn't want his oldest anywhere near a weapon until he was completely free of fever. As he'd told both boys before, _"Fever can do strange things to a man, and when he's got a gun in his hands, bad things happen."_

"Where's that damn noise comin' from?" Dean asked, his voice bordering on anxious, his eyes darting around the room, even as John started prying the gun away from him.

"Dean, it's ok!" Aubrey yelled suddenly, darting towards the older two with a panicked expression. "It's not anything bad, I promise!"

"Oh," Sam exclaimed, grinning suddenly as he glanced over at the small cage that sat, forgotten, in the corner. "I know what it is," he said with a laugh, hurrying over to pick the cage up to show his brother. "It's Boo on his wheel. He's running," he explained, holding up the cage for Dean's inspection.

"Oh, hell no!" Dean shouted when he spotted the hamster, scooting back against the headboard, his grip on the gun forgotten as he hastily jerked away from the cage in Sammy's outstretched hands.

"It's just a hamster, Dean," Sam said lightly. "It won't hurt you."

"Sammy, just…just put it on the floor and let me shoot it—I'll take care of it," Dean said quickly, making a grab for the gun that John had just taken from him.

"Dean, that's enough," John told him, holding Dean's arms in a firm grip as Dean tried to shrug him off in order to reach the gun. "Dammit, Sam, put the hamster back in the corner so your brother will calm down."

"Dad, no—you can't let him keep it," Dean told him, turning incredulous eyes on John. "You…you said…you said we couldn't have pets! Why're you lettin' Sammy keep a rat?"

"It's not Sammy's, it's ours!" Aubrey announced. "And you can't shoot Boo! Daddy won't let you—right, Daddy?"

"Sweetheart, your brother's not gonna shoot your rodent," John said reassuringly.

"Why are you siding with _them_?" Dean asked, and Sam stilled, freezing at the sound of the hurt in Dean's voice.

"Son, I'm not 'siding' with anybody," John said, heaving a weary sigh that Sam had rarely heard from him before. "Sam, why don't you get dressed and take the twins out to play for a bit, let me get Dean settled."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but changed his mind as he caught sight of the look of sheer frustration on his dad's face. John had turned back to Dean, trying to placate him, but despite his efforts, Dean jerked away, finally rolling to his side and putting his back to his father. Sam knew his older brother had to be hurting laying on his side that way, but Dean's pride had always been more than enough to overcome any physical pain he was feeling, and this time was no exception. _I wonder if Dad realizes how much of a pain it's gonna be to get Dean's temperature now that he's pissed off. "_Ornery" was how John had once described a sick Dean, and Sam doubted that there'd be any difference this time, despite Dean being seventeen and not ten.

Foregoing a shower, Sam pulled a pair of jeans from his bag, pulling them on over his boxers before throwing on a t-shirt. He could hear his dad talking quietly to Dean, and Sam strained to hear what his father was saying, but for once, John was speaking softly rather than in the deafening drill sergeant tones he normally spoke in. Braden followed Sam's lead, throwing on clothes without a fuss as Aubrey hurriedly dressed behind the partially-closed bathroom door. As Sam began to usher them outside with his father's warning to watch over them ringing in his ears, Aubrey turned back with worried eyes to face John.

"Daddy, you won't let Dean shoot Boo, will you?" she asked worriedly.

"Boo will be just fine, Aubrey, I promise. You just make sure to keep Boo in his cage when Dean is around, and we shouldn't have any problems." _Good thing she got his word on that—it would have been pretty damn convenient if Dad had just happened to 'accidentally' turn his back while Dean took out Boo…No more hamster, and Dad doesn't have to take the blame._

"We will, Daddy—we'll keep Boo away from Dean." With a small smile, she grabbed Braden's hand and hurried outside.

"When do you want us to come back, Dad?" Sam asked, as he stood in the doorway, hesitating now as he realized that he'd suddenly be in charge of watching the two eight-year-olds by himself.

"Come back around lunchtime, Sammy. We're running a little behind this morning, so we'll probably eat lunch around 3 or so." John told him softly, and with a nod, Sam quietly shut the door, hoping that by the time they returned, his dad and his brother would have everything settled._Something tells me that things won't be that easy. In this family, hardly anything ever is. _

* * *

"Sam, how come there's salt all over the floor in our room?" Aubrey asked as they walked outside. 

"Cause, Aubrey," Braden said before Sam could respond, "I told you, salt keeps bad things away. That's why Daddy told us to pour it out on the floor at our house. Remember?"

"It keeps away those demons you were talkin' bout?"

"Uh-huh. Cept, they're harder to keep out with salt than other things. But ghosts and stuff _really _don't like it," Braden told her matter-of-factly, and Sam could do nothing but gape. _Dude, how does he know about that stuff…I mean, would his mom really talk about that stuff to him? Would _she_ even know that stuff?_

"Sam? Why does Dean hate us?" Braden asked quietly, glancing up at Sam as they walked towards an empty field of grass nearby. Sam blinked at the abrupt change of subject, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea that Braden knew way more than he should about the supernatural craziness that defined life as a Winchester. But when his little brother's words registered, he frowned, stopping suddenly in his tracks.

"He doesn't hate you," Sam protested, ever quick to defend his older brother. But Aubrey and Braden obviously didn't believe him, as they both stared up at him with skeptical gazes. "He's just…I dunno, he's just pissed off. Not at you," he was quick to add, "…um…at Dad. But Dad's not really the type you can get away with screaming at when you're pissed off at him, you know? But us—we're easy targets."

"Well, we don't like it," Aubrey said, crossing her arms over her chest petulantly. "It isn't right for him to be mean to us when it's Daddy that he's mad at."

"Yeah, I know...But just give him some time—he's cool, you'll see. Dean's the coolest brother ever," Sam told them earnestly. They didn't argue, choosing instead to walk alongside him in comfortable silence, Braden kicking up rocks with the toe of his tennis shoe.

"Sam, will you give me a piggyback ride? Please?" Aubrey asked suddenly, giving Sam a puppy-dog look that gave him a sudden insight into his older brother, who had been subjected to that look many times over the years, courtesy of Sam himself. _Wow, she's good…I guess this is what it's like to be the older brother—you get that look, and you can't say no. No wonder Dean caves in when I use it on him. Too bad it doesn't work as well on Dad._

"Yeah, ok, hop on," he said, kneeling to the ground, unable to hold back a smile as she jumped on his back, wrapping her legs around his waist and holding on to his shoulders with a laugh.

"Will you give me one next, Sam?" Braden asked, hurrying to keep up with Sam's longer stride.

"Yeah, sure, why not? It's not like we don't have plenty of time."

"We like you, Sam—we've never had a big brother before, but we think you're a really good one."

Sam blushed, relishing in the sense of pride that filled him. _It's pretty cool to be the older brother for a change. Course, I had a really good example,_ he thought, thinking of Dean fondly, appreciating him more in that moment than he had in a long time. _ I wish he wasn't so upset with Dad, 'cause then he might give Braden and Aubrey a chance. They're a lot of fun, even though Aubrey cries a lot…but I guess that's 'cause their mom disappeared. Or maybe it's 'cause she's a girl. But what the hell do I know about girls anyway? I'll have to ask Dean…when he's not so pissy, anyway. _

Two hours and eight piggyback rides later, Sam had gained an even greater appreciation for his older brother. _Babysitting younger sibs is tough. Hell, Dean used to watch _me_ all the time—how did he ever keep me busy?_ _Yeah, Dad, great idea, telling me to take the twins outside until lunchtime. Um, hello—we're in freakin' South Carolina in the middle of the summer! It's hot as hell out here, and I don't even have a watch—how am I supposed to know when it's three o'clock? _

"C'mon, guys, let's go back inside," Sam said tiredly, shoving sweat-soaked hair out of his face with a grimace. "It's hot, and I think it's time for lunch anyway." _Or at least I hope it is. If it's not, I'll stay in with Dean, and _Dad_ can bring them back out._

"Do you think Dean's asleep by now?" Braden asked, his soft-spoken voice lightly questioning.

"I dunno, maybe. Probably. He wasn't feelin' so hot."

"Why not? What's wrong with him?"

"He and Dad were on a hunt," Sam said slowly, not certain how much he should tell them. "And um…Dean sort of got thrown around, and it busted up his knee, and something cut his side up. He's got stitches in his side, but he says that he'll have really cool scars when they heal up. Dean says chicks dig scars. But, his knee still hurts a lot, and I think his side does, too. And Dad says that Dean gets ornery when he doesn't feel well."

"What's ornery, Sam?" Aubrey asked curiously.

"Um…I think it means 'bitchy,'" Sam told them, and Aubrey's eyes widened momentarily before she turned to cast a questioning look at her twin brother. Braden shrugged, his eyes sparkling with humor, and Sam wondered belatedly if maybe he shouldn't have cussed.

"When's he gonna feel better?" Braden asked, and Sam shrugged his shoulder, his feet dragging as they slowly made their way back across the field toward the motel.

"Soon, I hope. He's no fun when he's like this. He won't be so mean once he feels better."

"How long are we gonna stay here, Sam?" Aubrey asked suddenly, changing the subject in a way that made absolutely no sense to Sam but perfect sense to Aubrey.

"I dunno. Until Dean feels better, I guess."

"Is Daddy gonna find Mama?" she asked, her voice low, as though she feared what Sam's answer would be. _Oh shit. What am I supposed to say? I mean, Dad hasn't said anything, but if their mom disappeared because of something supernatural like what killed Mom, then is Dad gonna be able to find her? He's been looking for the thing that killed Mom since she died, and he's _still_ looking…But I can't tell Aubrey that—it'll make her cry, I just know it._

"I dunno, Aubrey," he replied after a minute. "But he's gonna try," he told her, making up his mind that he could at least tell her that much.

"Aubby," Braden began, referring to her by a nickname that Sam could tell was one of fondness, despite his solemn tone, "Mama's not coming back."

"Whatcha mean, Bray?" she asked, frowning.

"I don't think Daddy is gonna find her. He'll _try_, but I don't think it'll work. Mama's gone. And she's not coming back, Aubby," he told her quietly, biting his lip as he fought past the tears welling up in his eyes.

Sam's eyes widened, and he suddenly found himself not knowing what to do. Braden had just dropped a bombshell onto their sister, and Sam knew without a doubt that Aubrey wouldn't take the news well. Sure enough, as he watched, Aubrey's eyes filled, and she jerked away, staring back at Braden with hot, angry tears falling down her face.

"Don't you say that, Braden! Don't you ever say that!"

"Aubby, I'm sorry, but…it's true," Braden said, shrugging helplessly at her, a pained look on his face. She shoved him angrily, knocking him into Sam before she turned and ran for the motel room. Braden watched her for only a second before he took off in pursuit of her, leaving Sam standing there in a mixture of disbelief and annoyance.

_Oh shit. _

* * *

A/N: I'd love to hear what you all think—am I doing ok so far? For those of you who reviewed, thanks so much!! 

**missmadeleine2002**: Thanks for reviewing again for me! It makes this whole thing worthwhile when people take the time to review! As you can see, things are starting to get crazy for John, so it's time to stand back and watch the fireworks. More fun to come! Let me know what you think!

**timetowaste247**: Yeah, at this point, it's still early in the game, so I don't see Aubrey and Braden necessarily gluing themselves to Sam entirely. I don't really want my added siblings to team up with Dean or Sam exclusively…they'll likely be equally close to each one for different reasons, and at different times. Dean will definitely not prove to be helpful anytime soon. Definite angst to come there. The mystery surrounding Braden is definitely there, and I'm going to continue to drop in little details…but I don't want to give it away too soon…so it might be awhile before the truth is revealed. Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing! It means a lot! Feel free to review anytime!!

**zuimar**: Thank you so much for the compliments and the encouragement! I'm well into Chapter 9 at this point, and I at least have an idea of where I'm going for now, so I'll definitely get us that far. But if you'd like to keep reviewing for me, I'm not at all opposed to the idea! Haha! Anyways, thanks again for reviewing, and I'd love to know what you thought of the chapter!


	6. Nothing's Ever Easy

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks to mimishell for always being honest with me about what works and what sucks out loud, and an extra-big thanks to her and CagedTroll for acting as wonderful sounding-boards for all my ideas and for encouraging me to keep going!

Chapter 6: Nothing's Ever Easy

After the battle to get Dean's temperature had confirmed that he was running a mild fever, John had finally gotten his oldest to settle back to sleep, the pain pill John had forced on him having taken effect quickly and efficiently. With nothing immediate to worry about for awhile, John had settled in at the table with his guns and his weapons-cleaning kit, savoring the quiet and the peace he felt as he focused on cleaning and reloading each and every weapon. But the moment wasn't to last, as the silence was suddenly broken by the now audible yelling of his children outside.

"Aubrey, wait!"

"You shut-up, Braden! I don't want to talk to you no more! Leave me alone!"

"What now?" Dean mumbled, rolling over from where he'd fallen asleep two hours before, and John glanced up, frowning at his oldest before turning to see his one and only daughter flinging the door open and running in with tears streaming down her face. She ran toward him, and John barely had time to push the gun he was cleaning aside before she jumped at him, crawling into his lap and burying her face in his shirt, sobbing pitifully. He wrapped his arms around her, trying to discern what she was mumbling into his chest in between her sobs as he began to absentmindedly rub her back._ Why did I honestly think that I wasn't going to have to arbitrate petty disputes between the kids? Things were going moderately well, I thought...except for Dean…I should have known that the shit was bound to hit the fan before long. _And judging by Aubrey's tearful anger and heated words, it looked like that moment had come.

"What is it, sweetheart?" he asked her, trying to soften his voice and wincing when it didn't come out as gently as he'd hoped. _I'm not used to this. Why did it have to be a girl? Especially a sensitive, cries-at-the-drop-of-a-hat girl?_ Deep down, John knew it wasn't really fair to assume that she was always so tearful, but at times like this, it was hard to remember that she was young and still trying to deal with the sudden lack of her mother. _I'm not cut out for this shit._

"Tell Braden not to say that anymore!" Aubrey cried, pulling away far enough to cast a hostile look behind her.

"Say what?" he asked as he watched Braden come to stand in the doorway with a grave expression on his face, staring silently back at his father and sister.

"He said Mama's not coming back!" she told John, her face puffy and her blue eyes, so like her brother's, filled with tears.

Sam walked in behind Braden with a sheepish expression, shrugging as though to apologize for allowing the twins' bickering to get out of hand. With a disgruntled sigh, Dean pulled his pillow over his head, and John spared a moment to cast an irritated look at his oldest before turning back to the twins. _One problem at a time, John. Deal with what you can now, and come back to the bigger problem later._

"Braden, why would you say something like that?" John asked, his stern gaze piercing as he demanded an answer.

"Because it's true," Braden said regretfully, meeting his father's gaze with sad eyes.

"Braden, you shouldn't talk like that, especially in front of your sister. It scares her," John told him, dragging a handkerchief out of his back pocket and handing it to Aubrey, resigned to acting once again as arbitrator in yet another sibling dispute.

"But it's true. It's not gonna let her go."

"_What_ isn't gonna to let her go?" John asked, looking up to stare at his youngest son with growing concern as he heard an echo of truth in the boy's words.

"The demon that took her," Braden replied quietly, his soft voice nevertheless seeming to reverberate in the small motel room.

_How the hell does he know this stuff? There's no way he could know this…how does he…hell, I hunt evil for a living, and my eight-year-old son scares the shit outta me._

"Sam, take your sister outside, see if you can calm her down," John said calmly, although he felt anything but composed as Braden stared back at him, eerily still.

"But, Dad—," Sam began, obviously about to issue an argument.

"Now, Samuel."

"Will you tell me what he says later?"

"If I think you need to know something, I'll tell you," John told him, in no mood for Sam's lip.

"Yeah, sure you will. Forget it," Sam said angrily, coming to his feet and heading to the door. "Come on, Aubrey."

"Go with Sam, Aubrey. I'll talk to Braden, okay?" John told her softly. She sniffled, clinging to John for a long moment before she slowly climbed out of his lap and shuffled to the door, turning a heartbreaking look on her father before slipping her hand into Sam's and letting him lead her outside. The door slammed behind them, and then John was left staring at Braden. Behind him, Dean pushed the pillow aside, his green eyes narrowing as he waited to see what John would say.

"Did you see the thing that took your mother, Braden? Did it tell you what it was?"

"No sir."

"Then how do you know it was a demon?"

"I saw the signs, the same as you. I don't think nothing but demons leave sulfur behind. That's what made Mama's room smell so bad."

"What do you know about demons, son?" John asked Braden, staring intently at the eight-year-old as he waited anxiously for an answer.

"A little. I know it'll use Mama to get to us. Aubrey thinks Mama is gonna come back. Maybe she will...but it won't be her anymore," he said somberly. "She'll have one of them inside her. And if it showed up here and asked Aubrey to open the door, she'd do it. She'd mess up the salt lines, too, if Mama asked her to, and then it could come in and hurt us. You have to make her understand, Daddy. "

_The most the kid has said since I met him, and it has to be this? _And with a growing sense of dismay, John realized suddenly just how right his son was. _I don't know which is worse, knowing that he's right, or knowing that he knows this shit. What the hell is going on?_

"Braden, how do you know all of this?"

"I dunno," Braden told him with a shrug. "I just do. I told you—I know a lot of things."

"Your sister doesn't know any of these things though, does she?"

"No sir."

"Then how is it that you do?"

"I told you—I dunno."

"Son, I gotta be honest—you're scaring the hell outta me."

"Sorry," Braden said quietly, his unwavering gaze seeming to cut right through him.

"Do you know anything about the demon that took your mother?"

"No sir," Braden said after a moment. "I think maybe I might if I'd seen it. But I never saw it."

"Do you have any ideas?"

Braden shook his head.

"I don't know stuff all the time…it just sorta comes to me."

"Alright. Well, look, if anything else just comes to you, you come tell _me_. Stop scaring your sister."

"You're going to tell her the truth, though, right?" Braden asked, sounding his age for the first time since John had met him, his face worried and his eyes pleading as he looked at John.

"Braden, your sister is doing the best she can to handle this, but she's been pretty upset…"

"Yeah, she always like that?" Dean said grumpily, eliciting a harsh look from John, even as Braden stared back at Dean for a moment before shaking his head minutely.

"She's normal usually, but she's scared now…Daddy's all we got now, and she's scared that the demon will come back and take him, too," he told Dean softly. His eyes went back to his father, his blue eyes staring earnestly up at his father. "You gotta make her understand the truth, Daddy. You gotta make her understand that Mama's not coming back."

"Son, I don't think Aubrey can handle that right now."

"She has to!" he protested. "You have to tell her! She won't believe me, not about this. She'll believe you, though, 'cause you're a grown-up, and you're our dad. If you don't tell her, then something bad could happen!"

"I'll handle it, Braden. Now why don't you go outside and talk to Aubrey? Try to get her to forgive you, huh? We have enough problems without adding more family squabbling to the mix."

Braden nodded and turned without another word, walking outside and shutting the door softly behind him.

"Dad, this shit just gets weirder and weirder," Dean murmured, and John couldn't help but silently agree. "I mean, I got a sister who cries all the damn time and a brother who's a freak," he continued, shaking his head with disdain. "Looks like gene selection didn't work out so great for you this time around, Dad," he said bitingly.

_Damn it, that's all I need—for Dean to start giving me lip. Bad enough I have to deal with everything else…_

"Dean, that's enough. Your sister's eight years old, and her mom just disappeared—of course, she's scared and upset. How many eight-year-olds do you know that could handle that well?"

"Well I was four, and I handled it just fine," Dean said shortly. "She'll get over it the same way I did."

"Dean, you didn't speak for months after your mother died," John told him pointedly.

"Maybe not, but I handled it. Coddling Aubrey isn't gonna do her a damn bit of good—that's what you've always told me, and that's how you've always treated me and Sam. Why should you treat _them_ any differently?"

John sighed, looking away to stare down at the floor, trying to gather his thoughts before he spoke.

"When you boys lost your mom," he began slowly, "I was hurting pretty bad, Dean. I knew how hard it was on you, having your mom gone, but I couldn't see past my own grief enough to be there for you. I didn't really let you grieve, and I regret that more than you know. But with Elaine…well, as bad as it may sound, I'm not so emotionally invested. What that means is that I can give the twins a chance to grieve, a chance that you never had. I can't keep making the same mistakes with them that I've made with you and Sam."

"Whatever, Dad. They're your kids, not mine. You do whatever the hell you want with them."

Before John could rebuke Dean for his remark, the door opened and Sam's head peeked through the door.

"Dad, um…we're sorta hungry. Can we go get lunch now?"

"Yeah, son. Go get in the car, and I'll be right out," John said, no longer wanting to argue with his oldest. "I'm gonna take your brothers and sister to get something to eat—we'll bring you something back."

"Well if you give me a damn minute, I can get dressed and come with you, instead of waiting for you all to eat before you finally bring me back something," Dean told him caustically.

"No, you're gonna stay here and get some rest. You're still running a fever, and you could use the sleep."

"What the hell, Dad? I'm fine! I've been sleeping all freakin' day," Dean said incredulously, his face tight with anger.

"Don't argue with me, Dean," John said, picking up his keys, no longer in the mood to listen to his son's smartass remarks. "Oh, and son? While we're gone, I suggest you lose the attitude," John told him, giving his son a hard look before he shut the door firmly behind him.

_Of all the traits Dean and Sam had to get from me, Mary, why did they have to get my stubbornness? And of course, Dean also managed to inherit my ability to hold a grudge. Yeah, no doubt you'd be laughing your head off at the irony, Mary—all my sins being returned on me. Damn. _

As John slid into the driver's seat of the Impala and pulled away from the motel, Sam frowned up at him from where he sat between the twins in the backseat.

"Dad, why are we leaving without Dean?"

"Because your brother needs some time to himself, son."

"But, Dad—"

"Enough, Samuel."

"Fine. But I'm sittin' in the front seat," Sam said, undoing his seatbelt and crawling over the seat to slide into the front. John chose not to remark on what Dean would say when he saw the dirty footprints that Sam had just left on the front seat and instead focused on driving, ignoring Sam, who had immediately started fiddling with the radio.

_They say it's all about picking your battles, right? Considering what I'm no doubt gonna have to fight out with Dean eventually, this shit seems pretty damn trivial in comparison…still, it wouldn't do to let Sam get complacent…_

"Sam, pick a station and leave it alone," he said sternly.

"Yes sir," Sam replied with a sigh of annoyance, turning the knob one last time before settling back in the seat.

"And while you're at it, brush the dirt off the seat—your brother doesn't need another reason to be pissed off."

"Alright, alright," Sam said with a sigh as he started brushing the dirt onto the floorboard of the car. "So where are we going, anyway?"

"Can we go to McDonald's?" Braden asked, his hopeful eyes meeting John's in the rearview mirror as the car approached the trademark golden arches. _That's the most child-like thing I've heard out of him since I met him...too bad I can't indulge him on this one. _

"We don't do McDonald's," Sam said hastily, and John hid a smile, knowing that Sam's fear of clowns was the reason for their avoidance of that particular fast-food restaurant. _And _that_ would be Dean's fault. I still can't believe he let Sammy watch _Stephen King's It_ when he was four. Kid still freaks out about clowns. Of course, it doesn't help that Dean points them out whenever he sees one._

"Why not?" Aubrey asked, her voice getting suspiciously close to a whine. "We like McDonald's!"

"Aubrey, don't start whining. We're not going to McDonald's, end of discussion," John said, taking pity on Sam who was beginning to turn an embarrassed shade of pink at the thought of having to admit his fear to his younger siblings. Successfully deflecting the issue as he drove past the entrance to McDonald's, John compromised by pulling into Burger King, and he could see the twins perk up at the sight of the play-place.

"Daddy, can me and Aubrey play on the playground? Just for a minute, while you get our food?" Braden asked carefully, obviously trying not to whine or beg.

"If your brother will watch you," John replied as he brought the car to a stop in the parking lot.

"Will you, Sam?" the twins asked simultaneously, turning eager gazes on the unexcited thirteen-year-old.

"Pleeeeeease, Sam!" Aubrey begged. "Me and Bray will be good, we promise," she told Sam earnestly, her earlier anger at her twin brother forgotten, John was pleased to note.

"Fiiiiine," Sam grumbled, a put-upon look on his face. "Thanks a lot, Dad," he told his father sarcastically, and John turned to grin at him before climbing out of the car, shutting his door and opening the one behind him to let Aubrey out.

"I want a chicken nugget Kids' Meal with barbeque sauce," Aubrey announced, "and Bray wants a chicken nugget Kids' Meal with honey-mustard sauce. Make sure you tell the people that one's for a boy and one's for a girl, Daddy," she told him earnestly. "Last time, we ended up with two boy ones, and it was no fun!" Not really understanding the difference, John just nodded, watching her dart around the front of the car to grab one of Sam's hands eagerly, her brother grabbing Sam's other hand, the two of them eagerly pulling him towards the entrance.

They dragged Sam to the playground, and for a moment, John watched them with a pleasant feeling in his chest. _Now, if only Dean was here, I could almost pretend we were a normal family, that I was a normal father taking his kids out for lunch..._ With a regretful sigh, John let the image fade away, wishing that for once things could be just a little easier.

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much to those of you who reviewed—I was starting to get bummed out by the lack of response. I pretty much already responded to most of you happy few who reviewed, but I thought I'd leave a little note to you anyway. Thanks again! And thanks to those of you who added this fic to your story alert list--I'd love to hear what y'all think, so don't be shy:) 

**zuimar**: You're fast becoming my most faithful reviewer—thanks so much! Keep 'em coming, because I love hearing from you—it definitely makes this worthwhile!

**Poppyflake**: Thanks for giving my fic a chance—glad you're looking forward to reading more—let me know what you think of this chapter!

**katana777**: Thanks so much for the encouragement, and I'm glad you're enjoying my portrayal of Sam. I hope I do him justice, as well as John and Dean. I'll definitely check into the justexpressing site you mentioned—thanks for the tip!


	7. Misery Loves Company

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED OR ADDED MY FIC TO THEIR FAVORITES/ALERT LIST!!!

Chapter 7: Misery Loves Company

Dean heaved a sigh of relief as the door shut behind his father, glad to have the room to himself for awhile. He didn't feel well…he was most certainly taking it out on his father, he knew, but he was pissed off and miserable enough to not feel guilty about it. Almost. _Dammit, why should I feel bad about being pissed off? I have a damn good reason to feel the way I do,_ he thought with a burst of anger. He rubbed at his eyes, unsuccessfully trying to rid himself of the headache pounding in his temples. _Man, I feel like shit._

Though he'd fought his father every step of the way when the old man had tried to take his temperature, it hadn't stopped him from getting Dean's temperature in the end. Luckily, it had been low enough that John didn't seem too concerned. _Of course, in between the supernatural shit and the added bonus of two spare kids, there's not exactly a lot of time for him to notice anything else…but then, maybe I'm just being a total bitch about all this and givin' Dad a hard time when things are already going to hell in a hand-basket. 'Cause any minute, Braden might start spouting off some freaky shit that there's no way in hell he should know, or Aubrey could start crying about something totally bogus…damn, I'm tired of this shit.. At least Braden is pretty quiet when he's not being a freak. But Aubrey cries all the damn time—what the hell is up with that…maybe that shit's contagious, or something. 'Cause, damn, I'm startin' to sound just as freakin' whiny as she does. Of course, maybe Dad deserves a little shit for screwin' some chick. And if nothing else, I'm damn good at dishing it out._

Maybe it wasn't fair to think that way, because Dean knew deep down that losing your mom trumped just about everything, hands down. So yeah, maybe it was wrong to be angry at Aubrey for being upset so often, but he was finding it incredibly hard to feel otherwise. He shifted, frowning as he felt the stitches in his side pull. Lifting his shirt, he laid his palm on the skin near the bandage, scowling at the warmth radiating from it. _Shit, it must have gotten infected somehow. Dammit, if Dad finds out about this, I'm never gonna hear the end of it…Unless I can keep him from finding out…of course, he might suspect, but he won't know for sure if I take care of it before he catches on._ Dean knew his body, and he knew that the odds were good that he'd be fine in a day. _My immune system kicks ass as much as I do,_ he thought with a smirk. _Of course, drugs would speed up the process…_ Knowing he would have to fetch the antibiotics stashed in the first aid kit on his own, he slowly forced himself to his feet with a groan, wincing as he put weight on his knee.

He slowly dragged himself to the bathroom where his dad had returned the first aid kit after the morning's fiasco. He popped it open, digging through its extensive contents before finding a small supply of antibiotics that John had somehow managed to procure._ Yahtzee_. Not spotting any cups, he shrugged and turned the cold water tap on, angling his head underneath the faucet so that he could swallow a few sips of water to wash down the antibiotic. _Dad could have at least gotten us a nicer place to say, one that actually leaves plastic cups in the freakin' bathroom._

Dropping his shirt to the floor, Dean slowly pulled the bandages away from the tears in his side, frowning at the angry red lines beginning to appear. _Shit._ The stitches were holding up okay, at least, but the wounds still weren't looking so great._ Damn poltergeist—never should have let it get the drop on me._ But his attention had strayed…_I was so busy thinking about how pissed Sammy was with Dad and how I was going to have to run interference again. It's no wonder I got hurt—I wasn't paying a damn bit of attention to what I was supposed to be doing. 'Course, it's not like I'm not payin' for _that _mistake—got myself thrown into a freakin' wall and smashed a sideboard hard enough to slice my side up in two places,_ he thought scathingly. The poltergeist's last ditch efforts had left Dean with painful gashes in his side and a torn ACL in his knee that had put him completely out of commission.

As he painfully made his way back to the bed, he cast a baleful look at the rodent in the corner, mentally blasting his father for siding with Aubrey and Braden about the stupid thing being allowed to live. _He knows good and well that rats freak me out, but he's gonna let them keep the damn thing. Nevermind that he never let me and Sammy have a pet, ever. We could have gotten a dog, something to help us hunt. But no. 'We can't take a pet on the road, Dean, it wouldn't be fair.' Yeah, like letting the twins keep a stupid rodent is fair. Dad's an asshole..but, then…he's not here…I could get rid of it before he got back…Now, where did Dad put my knife?_

It didn't take him long to find the knife John had placed in the bedside drawer, John's choice of hiding place causing Dean to shake his head ruefully. _Honestly, Dad, was that the best you could do? I'm not four—I think I can find something you've hidden in the damn drawer right beside my bed. _He shoved the drawer closed, the knife held loosely in his hand, the blade gleaming in the small crack of light shining through the gap in the curtain over the window. _Now, to take care of that effin' rat,_ he thought, turning toward the cage, his fist tightening around the hilt of the knife. But as he started to approach, he paused, a disturbing insight suddenly coming to mind. '_If I use the knife, I'd actually have to get close to the damn thing…hell, no. Better use a gun,_ he thought, shoving the knife back under his pillow.He turned towards his father's bed, where underneath he knew he would find John's duffel bag filled with weapons. _If I shoot it, I don't even have to get near it…_ He eyed the bed, debating whether his knee was up to the challenge, and he had just about made up his mind to go for it when something made him pause.

He liked to tell himself that it was just fear of his father's anger raining down on him like the wrath of God, but deep down he knew that that wasn't the only reason. As much as he wanted to convince himself that he didn't give a damn about his newfound siblings, he kept seeing Aubrey's tearful face as she sat on John's lap. _She'd never forgive me…why the hell do I care, though?_

The question echoed in his mind, even as he laid back down, propping his knee up on the small mound of pillows still sitting there. Honestly, he still hadn't decided how he felt about Aubrey and Braden. Every time he looked at them, his emotions were all tied up with his anger at his father. _Hell, they'd be sorta cute if they belonged to someone else. Why do they have to be in _my_ family? We were just fine the way we were. I mean, yeah, it sucks not to have Mom here, but me and Dad and Sammy were doing just fine on our own. _

Except they weren't, not really. And Dean couldn't deny it. The fighting between John and Sam wasn't getting any better, and Dean didn't fool himself into thinking that things were likely to improve. If anything, he knew, it was only going to get worse. _And now he's added two more kids to the mix. Like we weren't screwed up enough before,_ he thought bitterly. _Two more kids to cause tension that I'm gonna be left to deal with. Nothing says 'I love you' to your firstborn like dumping another younger brother and a sister on him. Yeah, thanks, Dad—I really feel the love._

He lay there for awhile, letting the bitter anger swell in his mind as he thought of all the shit that had happened to their little family…a family that suddenly wasn't so little anymore. He wanted nothing more than to 'suck it up' like his dad always told him to do when things weren't going their way, but for the first time in his life, following his father's example wasn't so easy. _Screw you, Dad. Oh wait, you already did that, didn't you, Dad? With some chick that wasn't Mom. _

Slowly, against his will, his anger began to fade as the biological need for sleep began to creep up on him. As much as he tried to fight it, his eyes closed, and he slowly succumbed to sleep, acknowledging somewhere in the back of his mind that his dad had been right—he did need sleep.

* * *

A warm weight settled on his chest, and Dean opened his eyes to see a Burger King bag sitting on his chest. Groggily, he grabbed at the bag, blinking his eyes once more to bring the three grinning faces staring down at him into focus. 

"We brought you back a burger and fries, Dean," Sam told him cheerfully, collapsing loose-limbed onto the bed beside his brother.

"Yeah, thanks—I'm sure it'll taste real good cold," Dean said sarcastically.

"If you don't want it, can I have your fries?" Braden asked, standing by the bed with a questioning gaze.

"Who said I didn't want it?" Dean snapped back argumentatively.

"I just thought--" Braden began with a shrug, but Dean cut him off.

"Yeah, well don't."

"Dean," John said menacingly, warning his oldest with a look to stop while he was ahead. With an irritated sigh, Dean glanced away, slowly sitting up and propping his and Sam's pillows behind him so that he could sit comfortably. Peeling the wrapper open, he lifted the edge of the bun up, grimacing at the sight of the chopped onions on the underside, spread liberally in the ketchup and mustard that coated the burger. Using the edge of the bun, he scraped the onions off with a scowl. _Obviously, Dad ordered, because if Sam had, I wouldn't have ended up with a burger loaded with onions. I'm seventeen years old, and Dad still has no freakin' clue that I hate onions._ Doing his best to ignore the lingering taste of onions as he took a bite of the burger, he surreptitiously studied his new siblings, trying to find signs of his father in them. The twins had settled on the floor with a coloring book and crayons, leaving it easy for him to study them without them knowing, and Dean wasn't above taking full advantage of the situation.

_Well, their hair is dark…but maybe their mom has dark hair. Had dark hair… And okay, they've got freckles. But so do a lot of other people—it doesn't mean Dad is their father. And Dad definitely doesn't have blue eyes—just that dog-shit brown that Sammy got saddled with. Good thing I got Mom's eyes…_

"So Dad," he began as he peeled the bun back once again to double-check for hidden onions that he was definitely still tasting, "when are you gonna have one of those tests done?" he asked idly, not giving much thought to his question as he narrowed his gaze upon the burger, now lifting the meat to check underneath.

"What are you talking about?" John asked, looking up from where he now lounged on the other bed, absentmindedly channel-surfing.

"You know, one of those tests to see if you match them—I mean, how do you know for sure that you're really their dad?"

Aubrey and Braden looked up worriedly, gazing at John with helpless dismay, and John turned a stern glare on Dean.

"I don't need some test to know that they're my children, Dean," he said firmly.

"But--"

"No. Don't bring this up again," John told him roughly. An uncomfortable silence fell, and Dean crumpled the wrapper up around his burger, dropping it on the bedside table, his appetite gone.

"Aren't you gonna finish?" Sam asked quietly after a long moment.

"No."

"But…I thought you were hungry," Sam said tentatively.

"Well I'm not anymore, ok? So drop it."

Without looking at anyone, Dean threw off the sheets and stood, catching himself as he weaved dizzily. He still felt like shit, but he wasn't going to admit it. _No way in hell._ Ignoring the crutches laying beside the bed, he limped over to his bag, grabbing it up and lifting it, ignoring the pain that ripped through his side. Wordlessly, he hauled it into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. After a long, hot shower, he emerged, immediately heading straight for the keys to the Impala sitting on the bedside table, trying to ignore the bitter anger that welled up inside him at the sight of his father watching a TV-movie with Sammy and the twins. He didn't know whether to be angry that he was being excluded or hurt that John was so easily doing things with the twins that he had rarely done with him and Sam._ Bad enough that I was robbed of a ton of these father-child moments, but to have Dad give the moments away to _them_…_ Grabbing the keys, Dean started for the doorway, only to be waylaid by his father's voice.

"Dean, where are you going?"

"Out. I need some air," Dean said quietly, resenting his father's question even more than he might normally have.

"Son, I don't want you driving. You're still looking feverish—it's not safe."_Don't give me that 'concerned parent' act—I don't need that shit, _he thought angrily, knowing it was best not to turn around to face his father, because he was doing a piss-poor job of hiding the rage aimed at him.

"Dad, I'm fine," he said with exasperation, wondering why the hell his dad was being such a damn mother-hen all of a sudden.

"I said no, Dean." And Dean knew from his father's tone that any further argument would be futile. Normally so controlled, Dean once again found the hot surge of anger seeking an outlet, and he couldn't stop himself from giving in to the urge to release it.

"Fine," he said tightly, slinging the keys at the table and storming outside. _Yeah, no doubt I'll pay for that when I come back in_, he thought as he slammed the door on his father's voice at his back. But the little expression of anger was satisfying, and despite knowing that he'd pay for his transgression, he didn't regret it in the slightest. Not even as he waited nervously to see if his father was going to follow him out. When the door remained closed, Dean breathed a sigh of relief and started walking. Only to realize quickly that without his crutches and pain meds, walking far was not only difficult but also totally out of the question. _Shit_, he thought, wishing he'd had the foresight to grab his crutches at least. _Of course, it's real hard to storm out when you're hobbling on crutches. _With a shrug, he limped over to the Impala, sinking gratefully onto the hood with a pain-filled sigh, settling in to watch the traffic go by.

He'd only been there a few minutes when he heard the room door open and close, followed by the familiar sense of Sammy's presence at his side. Without a word, Sam slid onto the hood beside Dean, leaning back until his shoulder brushed Dean's.

"You mad at me?" Sam asked softly, sounding for a moment like the small, eager-to-please five-year-old he'd once been.

Dean shrugged, his emotions in such turmoil that he wasn't even sure who exactly he was mad at anymore.

"Please don't be mad at me, Dean—I don't like them better than you, I swear," Sam said solemnly, staring up at Dean with pleading eyes. Dean felt a weight he hadn't even been aware of lift off of his shoulders, and he realized suddenly that that was precisely one of the many things he'd been worried about. Sibling rivalry had taken on a whole new dimension, as Dean suddenly felt like he was in competition with the twins for dibs on the family members they shared.

"You swear?" he whispered, hating the weakness in his voice but needing Sam's reassurance just the same.

"I swear."

For a long while, neither of them spoke after that, the two of them watching the cars go by without a word. Together, they watched the sun begin to slowly sink to the horizon, the thick, hot air finally beginning to cool slightly.

"So…" Dean began, "Is Dad pissed at me?"

"Nah, I don't think so. You could _so_ play the sympathy card—you still look like shit, you know."

"Haha," Dean said dryly. "You're real funny."

"Yeah, well, I learned from the best." They fell once again into a comfortable silence, and Dean relaxed, comforted by his brother's company despite the turmoil he still felt.

"Thanks," Dean blurted out suddenly. Dean really couldn't say exactly what he was thanking his little brother for, but he knew he didn't have to—Sam would know. With a grin, Sam nodded, nudging his brother's shoulder before aiming a plaintive look at his brother.

"So, can we go in now?" he asked Dean with a hopeful expression. "It's hot as hell out here, and I've been outside almost all freakin' day."

"Yeah, alright." That he wasn't in the least inclined to argue or even to tease Sam about being a wuss was enough to tell Dean that he definitely wasn't feeling one hundred percent yet. He slowly slid off the hood, wincing as his knee was forced to bear some of his weight.

"Do you want some help?" Sam asked.

"No."

With a shrug, Sam followed closely behind Dean, and as Dean pushed the door open, Sam scooted under his arm, entering the room in front of Dean. Inside, they found the twins sprawled out on the bed, on either side of their father, who had left the television on a cartoon station while he scanned a local newspaper.

"Boys," John greeted, his tone level as he eyed the two of them expressionlessly. "It's almost eight—we need to get dinner."

Dean blinked in surprise, uncertain how so much time had passed without his notice. _Damn, didn't we just eat lunch?_

"I'll stay here," Dean said, not at all eager to spend an hour sitting across a table from his new siblings pretending that everything was okay, that they were a family.

"No, you won't. You'll go with the rest of us," John told him firmly. "It's time you started acting like a part of this family."

"I thought I already was," Dean said scathingly, his tone effectively masking the hurt that had shot through him at his father's words.

"Shut it, and go get in the car, now," John bit off, his own temper flaring in response to Dean's response, and there was no mistaking the anger in his voice.

Without another word, Dean turned and limped back outside, his face hot and flushed as anger warred with the embarrassment of being rebuked by his father. The anger was winning.

Settling into the front passenger seat, Dean slammed the door and dropped his head back against the headrest wearily, the toll of maintaining his resentment beginning to wear on him. But Winchesters were nothing if not stubborn, and Dean was determined not to be the first to cave in. _This is stupid—why the hell is Dad forcing me to come along? I feel like shit, and I thought I'd made it pretty damn obvious that I don't wanna go. _

A minute later, the back doors opened simultaneously, and Sam and the twins slid into the backseat behind him, Aubrey sliding into the middle to make room for Sam. Dean closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, effectively putting a stop to any attempts to engage him in unwanted conversation. Dean had grown quite proficient at nonverbal communication over the years, and the odds of anyone in the car not being able to read his intense desire to be left alone were slim to none. _Hell, in this family, nonverbal communication is as vital as breathing. 'Cause we for damn sure don't talk about all this shitty emotional baggage that we haul around like the rest of our luggage. Clothes, check. Weapons, check. Emotional shit, check._

As John slid into the driver's seat and started the car, Dean settled against the door, as far away from everyone as he could get. He rested his forehead against the window, relishing the feel of the cold glass against his flushed skin. As the sound of his father's shitty music softly filled the car, Dean could almost pretend that everything was back to normal.

* * *

As the car came to a stop and John cut the engine off, Dean opened his eyes, only to wish that he hadn't as he saw the lights of the Shoney's sign glaring back at him in all of it's neon intensity. _Shit…why the hell did I convince myself that Dad would take us through a drive-thru at some fast-food joint? _ Dean thought with a scowl._ Um, maybe because that's what he normally does. No, he _would_ take us to a sit-down restaurant, probably just to spite me. And now I'm gonna have to suffer through an awkward-as-hell meal with Dad, who I'm pissed at, the twins, who I don't even want around, and Sammy, who's no doubt going to try his damnedest to get me to play nice with the twins._

Unsteadily exiting the car, Dean followed behind his father and siblings, refusing to meet his father's gaze as John held the door open for him to go through. He settled gratefully into the booth after Sam, ignoring the menu on the table as he rubbed at his aching knee. The twins jostled for position next to John, who allowed it as he pushed the children's menus in front of them along with the crayons that came with them.

With a grimace, Dean tried to stretch his leg out under the table, biting back a groan and doing his best to ignore the sick feeling that was pervading his stomach. As John began to help the twins find something on the children's menu to eat, Dean tuned everything out and slumped down in the booth, so focused on trying to convince his body that it really wasn't as miserable as it thought it was that he was only vaguely aware that Sam ordered for him when the waitress stopped by to take their drink orders. He didn't even notice when she doled out the drinks to each of them and waited to take their food orders. His world had narrowed down to his body's demands on him, and it was only the sound of his father's voice calling him that brought him back to awareness.

"Dean." By the tone of John's voice, Dean could tell that his dad had been calling for awhile, but he was having trouble getting himself to respond.

"Sir?" he mumbled, forcing his eyes to open only to realize that everyone was staring at him expectantly.

"What do you want to eat, son?" John asked, a hint of hunger-driven impatience in his voice.

"Um…"

"Dammit, Dean—open the menu and order, son—we're waiting."

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat—you need to keep food in your system."

"I'm _not_ hungry," Dean said shortly, shoving the menu away from him angrily._Why the hell can't he just leave me alone? _John narrowed his eyes, casting a stern glare at his oldest for a long moment before handing Dean's menu back to the waitress, obviously deciding to let the matter go for the moment. Dean dropped his head back against the wall behind him and shut his eyes, willing away the queasiness that was making itself known.

"I think he's still feelin' bad, Dad," he heard Sam say softly. _Thanks for filling him in, Sammy—he obviously wasn't getting it._ He couldn't quite make out his father's soft-spoken reply, but no argument ensued, so Dean could only assume that his dad had chosen to accept Sam's explanation.

"Dean." Opening his eyes with a barely contained sigh of annoyance, Dean saw his father pushing a glass of water towards him with a look that was unmistakable. "Drink it. All of it."

Dean grudgingly picked up the glass, knowing better than to argue with that look, and began to slowly sip at it, surprised to see that the food had been delivered. _How the hell did that happen without me noticing? I mean, how do you miss somebody coming up to the table with a tray full of food and not hear everyone's plates getting set down. Not to mention the sound of all the freakin' silverware clinking on the plates. Shit. _He knew he was bad off when he was so damn out of it that he didn't notice food being brought to the table.

"Better?" John asked, bringing Dean's attention back to his father.

Dean grunted in lieu of an answer, enjoying the feel of the ice-cold water sliding down his throat and cooling his insides as much as he hated to admit it.

"I want to take your temperature again when we get back," John said as he took another bite of his cheeseburger.

"I'm fine, Dad. I'm just not hungry—it's not a big deal," he told his dad, trying to force himself to sit up and pretend he didn't feel like shit.

"Dean, the minute you confess to not being hungry, I know something's wrong with you, so don't try and hand me some cock-and-bull story about how you're fine. I also want to take a look at your side, make sure it's healing up okay."

_Oh shit,_ Dean thought with growing alarm. _He's gonna tear me a new one if he finds out that I let that wound get infected AND that I didn't tell him…think fast, Dean, you need a distraction…_

"Dad? How long are we gonna stay here? In South Carolina, I mean," Sam asked, bringing John's attention to the younger boy.

_Thanks, Sammy—I knew you were an awesome little brother for a reason. Hopefully that'll keep Dad's attention off me for awhile, give me time to come up with something._

"I think we'll head out soon. Why?"

"Well, it sucks here. It's hot as hell outside, and there's nothing to do except spit on the sidewalk and see how long it takes to evaporate." At this response, John looked somewhat less than amused, casting a displeased look at his son before shaking his head.

"I hope to leave in the morning—there's really nothing to gain by staying."

"But Daddy, what about our house? And all our toys?" Aubrey asked, looking up from her plate of macaroni-and-cheese with a stricken expression.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but we can't take all that stuff with us. We have to leave it behind."

_And cue the waterworks_, Dean thought caustically, and sure enough, as they watched, Aubrey's lower lip began to tremble and her eyes began to fill.

"It's not so bad, Aubrey," Sam said encouragingly, and Dean's jaw dropped, even as John cocked an eyebrow.

"What the hell are you talking about, Sammy? You practically pitch a fit every damn time we leave for a new town, and you're always bitching about not having a house, a dog, and all that other shit," Dean said hotly.

"Dean, shut it," John said, pointing his finger at Dean sternly.

"What? I'm just saying—Sammy shouldn't feed her a load of bullshit just to make her feel better."

"Dean."

"Fine," Dean mumbled, dropping his gaze as he went back to his water, ignoring the sense of guilt that he was feeling as he saw Aubrey push her plate away and put her head down on the table, tears spilling down her face. It didn't take long for Braden to push his own plate away, apparently disturbed enough by his twin's misery to no longer feel hungry, and soon after, Sam pushed his plate away, too.

_Whoops_, Dean thought unapologetically as John cast an angry look at him. _Yeah, if he thinks I'm gonna say sorry, then he's totally lost touch with reality. _After several long, painful minutes of silence, John set his fork down and wiped his hands on his napkin before tossing it down on the table.

"I guess it's pointless for us to stay any longer, seeing as how you've killed everyone's appetite, Dean."

"What are you pissed at me for? I wasn't the one who started cryin' and ruined everyone's dinner," Dean protested, knowing damn well that he was at least partially to blame but unwilling to admit it to his father.

"No, you're the one that caused the damn crying in the first place. I expected better from you. Let's go." John nudged Braden, motioning for him to scoot out of the booth, before climbing to his feet. As he slowly followed his dad and the twins out with Sammy at his heels, Dean was silent. After all, there was really nothing to say.

* * *

A/N: Ok, so there you have it, folks—the first Dean chapter you've seen in quite awhile. Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think! 

**lilgurlgreen**: So glad you liked the last chapter! Thanks for reviewing!

**Jensmnms**: It was great to hear that my fic is one of your favorites! Hope your broadband connection is back online for you! Glad to see that you're no longer skeptical of the new siblings, and I hope this chapter gave you the Dean-fix that you wanted! Thanks for reviewing!

**jade1056**: Glad to hear that you like the characters and relationships—I'm hoping to update every Friday, so expect another chapter shortly. Thanks for reviewing!

**Poppyflake**: Ok, if you thought Dean was a grump in the last chapter, I wonder what you think of him after this one—lol! I'm afraid it's going to get worse before it gets better, but eventually, he'll come around. Thanks so much for reviewing!

**cozmikfaerie**: There's a lot of family angst to get through, but Braden's back-story is going to come into play soon—expect more little hints at strange behavior. Anyways, glad to hear you're enjoying the fic, and thanks so much for the compliments (and for reviewing, of course)!

**Dilly**: Thanks for giving my fic a chance, since you don't typically go for the extra-sibling fics. I knew when I decided to write this fic that it was highly possible that I wouldn't get as many readers because of the extra-sibling thing. Dean will continue to have issues for a bit longer, but he'll come around soon. In the meantime, expect more pissed off behavior (especially in the next chapter). As for John's relationship with the twins, it'll settle into normality soon. Right now, the twins are still new, and John's trying his best to sort of "ease them" into the family. They just lost their mom, and they're meeting their dad and two brothers for the first time, so John's feeling pretty out-of-his-element. I saw him trying to make things as easy as possible for them, but it won't last forever. Normality will come, don't worry. Anyways, thanks for reviewing and letting me know what you think—it helps to hear what works and what doesn't so that I can tweak future chapters.


	8. Winchester Family Traits

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: As always, thanks to mimishell and CagedTroll for all of their help and advice, as well as for taking time out of their days (and nights) to read chapters for me!

Chapter 8: Winchester Family Traits

Sam yawned as he stood outside the motel room door, automatically pausing at the doorway as he waited for his father to unlock the door and do his usual inspection, a routine that was as normal a part of the Winchester lifestyle as packing. As the twins went to follow John in, Sam put out an arm to block them, shaking his head at them quietly.

"Don't bother. He won't let you go in yet," he said, unable to hide the annoyance he felt as a result of having to endure the boredom of waiting. _It's not like he ever finds anything. This is so stupid._

"What're we waitin' on, Sam?" Braden asked.

"For Dad to finish being a paranoid pain-in-the-ass—he's in there sneakin' around the room looking for nonexistent signs that something evil would waste its time busting into our shitty motel room," Sam replied snarkily.

"Sam, stop it," Dean told him quietly, narrowing a stern gaze on his little brother. Sam gave him a dirty look before turning back to the door, leaning against the doorjamb impatiently, unknowingly mirroring one of his older brother's common poses—arms crossed over his chest, shoulders slumped, and one ankle crossed over the other. _Yeah, like you're any more patient than I am, bro,"_ he thought sullenly_. Face it, Dean—patience—not really a Winchester trait. _

"Jerk," Sam mumbled.

"I'm not playin' around, Sam—you're being an ass, now cut it out."

"You're being a bigger ass than me," Sam retorted, casting a look at the twins before staring back at his older brother pointedly. Dean's eyes narrowed, and Sam was beginning to think that maybe he should've kept his mouth shut when, luckily, their dad reappeared at the door and motioned them inside, unaware that he'd interrupted the start of an argument that was likely about to turn ugly.

"I want everyone's stuff packed—we're leaving first thing in the morning," John was saying as Sam hurried inside and flopped down on the bed, preparing to turn the TV on.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked.

"Not sure yet—it's a toss-up between Jim's place and Bobby's place. I think you'd all be safer with Jim at this point, until I know what we're dealin' with. But Bobby might be able to tell us more about what the hell is going on, because right now, all we know for sure is that Elaine is gone, a demonic sonofabitch had something to do with it, and Braden doesn't have a damn clue how he knows about this shit," John said absently, gently pushing past the twins to drop a pile of clothes into his duffel.

"What the hell do you expect Bobby to tell us that we don't already know, Dad?" Dean asked, and Sam could only wince at the amount of antagonism in Dean's voice. _Is this how he feels when I smart off to Dad all the time? Because if so, then I should reconsider bitching at Dad in front of Dean. I never realized how much it sucks to watch your brother start shit with your dad…of course, it's easier when you're not the one doing the bitching. _

Biting down on his lip, Sam could only watch his older brother face off with their dad, knowing that the odds of their father putting up with Dean's new attitude slim at best. Feeling a small form come up beside him, Sam looked down to see Aubrey standing there, staring up at him with sad, worried eyes before she turned to John, interrupting what was no doubt about to be the proverbial shit hitting the fan when John tore Dean a new one for being so disrespectful.

"Daddy, he's wrong, isn't he? Your friend's gonna tell us how to find Mama, and then we're gonna go get her, right?"

John turned away from his eldest, picking Aubrey up and sitting her down on the foot of the bed, crouching down so that he could look her in the eyes.

"Sweetheart, finding your mom isn't gonna be easy. But I'm gonna try my best, okay?"

"Why don't you just tell her the truth?" Dean broke in, his voice at once managing to sound both incredulous and angry. "Her mom is gone! Even if you do find her, she's probably already dead—it's pointless to let her get her hopes up."

Sam froze, his eyes widening as Dean's own did, looking just as surprised as Sam that he'd actually spoken the words out loud. But it was too late to take back what he'd said, and they all knew it. For a moment, no one moved, the silence painfully ringing with Dean's statement. Across the room, Braden was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his open sketchpad now forgotten on his lap as he, too, stared in frozen shock, waiting for something to happen. John moved then, grabbing Dean's arm and jerking him forward so fast that Sam didn't even see him shift.

"I've had about enough of this attitude problem of yours. You straighten up, and you do it fast, or so help me, your ass won't be able to sit for a month, do you understand me?"

"Yessir," Dean said tightly, his jaw tight with anger and embarrassment. _Wow, Dad must be seriously pissed—he hasn't spanked Dean since that time when he was thirteen and he forgot to load the shotgun with the right shells because he was too busy checking out Sherry What's-her-name's rack…_

John released Dean just as suddenly as he'd grabbed him, and Sam felt a moment of sympathy for his brother. _Dean always manages to blurt shit out before he thinks it through—a lot like Dad, actually…Yeah, big brother, you always tell me I think too much, but at least I don't say shit I never meant to say._ And of course, Sam had more experience in verbally sparring with their father and had learned long ago just how far he could push the old man, whereas Dean had little experience in that regard, only realizing too late when he'd gone too far. _And that, bro, was definitely too far. If the twins weren't sitting right here, he probably would have totally kicked your ass for that._

Without another word, Dean laid down on the other bed, and Sam found himself suddenly uncertain who to go to: Dean, who was obviously not handling things well, or Aubrey, who had tears silently trickling down her face. _Okay, this is new…do I try to make Aubrey feel better, since she's my little sister, or should I back Dean up, since he's my brother…I mean, Dean's been my brother a lot longer…but Aubrey's still new in the family, and I feel bad for her, cause her mom's gone and she's scared…shit._

Sam stood, caught in the middle for what was likely the first time ever, torn between family members. His dad caught his eye then, nodding almostimperceptibly at Dean as Braden hurried past them to join his sister at the foot of John's bed. _Yeah, Dad, you handle Aubrey, and I'll take care of Dean. That'll work._ With a rush of relief, Sam launched himself at the bed he and Dean shared, landing with a jolt next to Dean, who was staring blankly at the ceiling.

"Dean, you okay?" he whispered, scooting closer so their father couldn't overhear. When Dean failed to reply, Sam nudged his shoulder, only to have Dean jerk away angrily, his gaze never leaving the ceiling. Sam glanced at his father, shaking his head when John's eyebrow went up questioningly. John frowned, and Sam could honestly say he felt the same way. It was never good when Dean went into verbal lockdown, because there was no way of knowing when he would come out of it. _When even the bullshit comments stop, we're in trouble. _

"Dean, man, c'mon, please don't be mad. Can't you just give it a chance, try not to be pissed at them 'cause you're mad at Dad? I mean, c'mon, it's not their fault that Dad slept with their mom," Sam thought, grimacing as it suddenly occurred to him that he'd just acknowledged that their father had had sex. _Gross. Every kid's worst nightmare—their parents having sex. That's just nasty. _

Sam frowned when Dean didn't respond, sighing when it became glaringly obvious that Dean had fallen back on old habits and simply shut down, refusing to acknowledge anyone, Sam included. _Ok, so obviously Dean wants me to leave him alone…now what am I supposed to do? _ Looking over to see how his dad was handling Aubrey, he was surprised to see her scooting away from John to sit on the edge of the bed, apparently not wanting to be comforted any more than Dean did. _Wow, I'm impressed—I thought for sure she'd end up sobbing all over Dad…_He raised his eyebrow as he watched his baby sister aim a hateful glare at her oldest brother, leaving no doubt in Sam's mind that she was a Winchester through and through. _Oh yeah, she's one of us—no one does hostility like a Winchester. It's like they always say, if looks could kill…yeah, Dean would be a dead man. And if blood runs true, she'll hold a grudge, too._

John moved away, obviously giving them space, and Sam could just imagine that his father was hoping that everything would blow over, but as Braden moved over to sit beside Aubrey, Sam shook his head, knowing that there was no way in hell that Dean would let things go so easily. _And Aubrey doesn't look too damn willing, either_.

"Dean's a stupid jerk, and I wish he wasn't part of our family," Sam heard Aubrey whisper to Braden, and Sam's eyes immediately shot to his brother. Because if _he_ had heard Aubrey, there was no doubt that Dean had, too. Dean's gaze abruptly left the ceiling, hot rage darkening his green eyes. _Oh, hell, _Sam thought, wincing as he saw the look on Dean's face. _Not good, little sister, not good. Guess she didn't realize how pissy Dean can be about insults. At least the insults that someone actually means. Yeah, it's all fun and games until he takes it seriously. And it looks like this is one of those occasions._

"Dean," John began, his voice deepening in warning as Dean brought the full force of his stare to bear on Aubrey. But Dean didn't even look at his father, and Sam knew that the shit was about to hit the fan at full speed.

"Let's be real clear about this," Dean said, coming to his feet as suddenly as his father, his injured knee obviously forgotten as he moved to stand over Aubrey, completely ignoring John. "This is _my_ family—you're not a part of it, and you don't get to say shit like that. You're not one of us," Dean told her angrily. _Dammit, Dean, why couldn't you just let it go?_ Sam thought miserably, knowing good and well that their father wouldn't let him get away with that. Not after the last incident. His eyes darted to Aubrey, even as John moved toward Dean with fiery resolve in his eyes.

On the other bed, Aubrey's eyes had filled with hot, angry tears, her hands fisting in the blankets as she struggled not to cry. Sam could only watch helplessly as his father swiftly grabbed Dean's upper arm in an iron grip, retaining his hold on him as he shoved the seventeen-year-old ahead of him into the bathroom, slamming the door behind them both with enough force to rattle the window. As they heard John begin to tear into Dean, Aubrey looked at Sam, her fingers fidgeting nervously, even as Braden looked down at the floor, kicking at the carpet with the toe of his shoe.

"So I guess Daddy's real mad, huh?" Braden said softly, and Sam nodded, not really sure what he was supposed to do. Dean was the big brother, not Sam. _He's the one that's supposed to know what to do, not me._

"I didn't mean for him to hear, Sam," Aubrey whispered regretfully, and Sam sighed, climbing to his feet and sitting down beside her.

"Yeah, I know you didn't," he murmured back, trying to smile at her encouragingly but knowing he'd failed miserably.

"He's wrong, though, isn't he?" Aubrey whispered.

"What?"

"That we're not family…he's wrong, right? 'Cause, I know I said I wished he wasn't our brother, but I didn't really mean it, Sam—honest," she said earnestly.

"I know. Dean didn't really mean what he said, either," Sam told her, hoping like hell that he wasn't straight-up lying to his baby sister. "You're family."

John's voice finally subsided, and after a long, painful minute of absolute silence, the door opened and John reappeared, his hand once again wrapped around Dean's arm as he propelled his oldest out of the bathroom.

"Get in there, lie down, and keep your mouth shut—I don't wanna hear another word from you," John said tightly, his face still revealing carefully controlled anger. Sam stood up, not wanting to seem like he'd sided with the twins against his brother, but it was a wasted effort, as Dean refused to meet his eyes. Keeping his gaze averted, Dean awkwardly slid into bed without looking at anyone, his face flushed with anger and embarrassment, his mouth firmly closed.

Sam looked at his dad, knowing with one glance that his dad had reached his limit at last. _Best not to say anything to him, now._ He knew for sure that he didn't want John's attention on him at that moment, so without a word, he started digging into his duffel for the book he'd dug out of the trunk of the car earlier.

"Aubrey, Braden—showers tonight, both of you," John said gruffly, not looking up as he began to lay out his weapons for a thorough cleaning.

"You go first, Bray," Aubrey whispered, and with a sigh, Braden stood, dragging his bag into the bathroom, the door closing behind him with a click of the lock.

"Samuel?"

"Sir?" Sam said uneasily.

"Did you put out the salt lines?"

"No sir, not yet."

"Do it now."

"Yessir," Sam said, leaving his duffel where it was as he picked up the large bag of salt that lay haphazardly in the corner. Aubrey watched him curiously for a moment before following Sam around the room, absorbing everything he did as he laid out unbroken lines at the windows and the door.

"That keeps us safe from the baddies?" she asked, looking up at Sam with trust-filled eyes.

"Yep."

"Cool," she said, staring up at him with a smile as he finished the last of the lines. He glanced at his dad to see if there was anything else John wanted him to do before he settled back down, but not surprisingly, his father was completely engrossed in his arsenal. Dropping the salt bag back in the corner, Sam resumed his task of finding the book he'd stuffed in his duffel, leaving Aubrey to her own devices. With nothing else to do, Aubrey went over to Boo's cage, lifting the small creature out of the cage and cradling him in her hands, cooing softly to him. From the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean cast a furtive glance her way, sending the hamster the evil eye before pulling a pillow over his head, effectively isolating himself. _Aubrey better keep a damn good eye on Boo, or Dean's gonna go after him…And the first and only Winchester family pet thus meets a sad, unfortunate demise_, Sammy thought with a grin. Watching his brother surreptitiously, Sam suddenly realized that he wasn't hearing Aubrey anymore. Glancing back over at her, he was surprised to see that she'd crossed the room and was now carefully lifting the bag of salt from the corner.

"Aubrey, what are you doin'?" Sam asked anxiously, prepared to leap up and grab for the bag before she dropped it. _Dad would so blame me for it if I let her spill that shit all over the place._ Hearing the slight hint of panic in Sam's voice, John looked up as well, just in time to see Aubrey dragging the bag of salt across the room.

"I gotta lay a salt-line, too, Sam," Aubrey was saying. Sam eyeballed his dad, waiting to see if John would allow it before settling back against his pillow when John smiled indulgently at the one and only Winchester female.

"Put it back where you found it when you finish," John said, going back to his weapons without another word." _Where the hell does she need to put a salt-line? I put all of 'em out, and I think after years of experience, I know what I'm doing. There's no way I missed one._

"I will, Daddy, I promise," she said earnestly, her gaze remaining focused on her task. As Sam watched, Aubrey ever-so-carefully began to pour a line of salt around Boo's cage, completely encircling it with the protective substance before standing back to admire her handiwork.

"You're puttin' a salt-line around Boo's cage?" Sam asked in astonishment.

"We can't leave him unprotected, Sam," she told him, shooting him a look that Sam correctly interpreted as 'what are you, stupid.' "He'll be safe now—I don't want any of those demon-y things to get him."

"Right. Well, I doubt they'd waste their time attacking a hamster, but whatever," Sam said, shaking his head even as he smiled in amusement. Shifting his attention to his book, Sam read about twenty pages before Braden reappeared, his hair wet and dripping onto the shoulders of his t-shirt. John glanced up, his lips quirking with the start of a smile.

"Braden, bring me your towel, son," he said, setting aside the .45 he was cleaning. Braden took the towel to him, holding it out and standing patiently as John gently pulled him closer, towel-drying the little boy's hair. Sam smiled, remembering when his dad had done the same for him when he'd been younger. "Aubrey, put the rodent away and go get in the shower," he said gruffly as he gently nudged Braden toward the bed.

"It's not a rodent, Daddy," Braden said with a grin. "Boo's a hamster."

"If it's hand-sized, furry, and has four legs, it's a rodent."

Sam laughed, turning away only to spy Aubrey reluctantly heading for the bathroom, dragging her feet as readily as she was dragging her bag. She went in, leaving the door cracked open about a foot. Sam had just gone back to his book when Aubrey poked her head out, biting her lip as she glanced at her father worriedly.

"Daddy?"

"What is it?"

"You…you won't shut the door, will you?" she asked softly.

"Uh…" John said, obviously not understanding where she was going with the line of questioning. "You wanna leave the door open?"

"Uh huh—I'm scared to shut it." John winced, and Sam could only smile, amused at his dad's reaction to having a girl. _This is freakin' awesome—it's like, divine punishment—one of the great John Winchester's kids is a total wuss. _

"Yeah, alright, baby—I won't shut it."

"You promise?"

"Yeah."

With a smile, Aubrey disappeared back around the door, and a moment later, the sound of the shower running came on.

While she was out of the room, Sam quickly shed his shoes, socks, and shorts until he was clad only in his boxers and t-shirt before gingerly climbing into bed next to Dean, careful not to jar his older brother too much. The older boy was obviously asleep, his breathing having slowed and his body completely still—not something that an awake Dean was capable of doing. _No doubt he still feels like shit. And Dad's totally forgotten that he wanted to take Dean's temperature again_, Sam thought, wondering vaguely if Dean was devious enough to have planned all that…_Nah, Dean's good, but he's not that good. If he had that planned, it sure blew up in his face, cause I'm pretty sure Dad tearing him a new one wasn't part of the plan…Maybe I should remind Dad that he was gonna take Dean's temp…_But a quick glance at his brother lying unmoving beside him changed his mind. _Nah, better not draw attention to Dean again._

"Daddy? Can you help me dry my hair?"

Sam looked up to see Aubrey standing in the doorway with her hair dripping not only on her shoulders but also onto the floor, and Sam grinned, knowing that there was no way a quick towel-dry was gonna cut it with Aubrey's hair.

"Sam, help your sister dry her hair." And that quickly, Sam's smile disappeared._Aw, man._

"Dad, c'mon, I was in the middle of my book," Sam complained.

"Wasn't a suggestion, Samuel," John replied, not looking up as he cleaned the barrel of his 9mm.

With a scowl, Sam threw the covers off and dragged Aubrey back into the bathroom. She handed him a brush, smiling happily at him as she turned to face the mirror. Grimacing, Sam drew the brush through her hair, not really certain what the hell he was doing, but not willing to argue with his father either.

"Ouch, Sam! Be careful—it's tangly!"

"Sorry," he mumbled, feeling completely clumsy as he tried to gently run the brush through the wet, tangled waves. Despite his best efforts, though, it was not smooth-sailing. _Why the hell is this so freakin' difficult? I mean, c'mon, I have kinda long hair, but combing it isn't nearly this bad. _

"OW!" she shrieked, when he accidentally pulled too hard.

"Look, I'm doing the best I can—your hair's a huge, freakin' mess!" Sam said, unknowingly raising his voice as his frustration grew.

"Dammit, Sam, what's the problem?" John asked, and Sam looked up to see his father standing in the doorway with a disgruntled look.

"Dad, she keeps whining every time I try to brush it," Sam complained.

"'Cause he's pulling!" Aubrey broke in. "You don't do it right!" she told Sam hotly.

"Well, how the hell am I supposed to know how to 'do it right?' You're the first girl we've had in the family since my mom died, and I didn't exactly get a chance to brush her hair before she died, did I?" Sam threw back.

"Alright, that's enough," John cut in, effectively putting an end to the argument. "Sam, go get the rest of your stuff packed and get to bed," he said, taking the brush out of Sam's hand and steering him in the direction of the door with a not-quite gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Gladly," Sam replied, stepping out and leaving John to deal with the little girl. He grabbed up his clothes and started for his bag, only to realize that Braden was smiling at him.

"Don't feel bad, Sam—I'm not good at it, either. It's the curlies that make it so hard to brush. They get tangly."

"I've never had anybody to practice on," Sam said with a shrug, wondering in the back of his mind why it suddenly bothered him so much. _You shouldn't miss what you never had to begin with, right? So why do I freakin' care that I don't know how to brush a chick's hair?_

"I don't think it would matter much, Sam."

"Huh?" Sam asked, so lost in thought a moment before that he had no idea what Braden was talking about.

"If you had someone to practice on—I don't think it would matter. We're boys. We're not supposed to know how to do that stuff," Braden told him logically.

"Then how come Dad seems to know what he's doing?" Sam asked, gesturing toward the bathroom where Aubrey was no longer yelling and the hairdryer was now on.

"Well, 'cause he's a dad. Dads are different, Sam," Braden pointed out. _And how do you argue with logic like that?_ Sam thought with a shrug. Setting aside the clothes he was going to wear tomorrow, Sam zipped up his duffel and shoved it back toward the wall before climbing back into bed, propping up his pillow and turning back to his book, leaving Braden to his sketchpad, which the little boy was now contentedly drawing in as he lay across John's bed.

About ten minutes later, John emerged from the bathroom with Aubrey, pushing her toward the bed with a playful swat. She started to run toward the bed, only to stop beside Sam, suddenly throwing her arms around him in a hug.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, Sam."

"It's alright," Sam said, awkwardly hugging her back.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" she asked worriedly.

"Nah." With a last squeeze and a happy smile, she ran to John's bed and hopped up happily, crawling over Braden so that she would be in the middle when John came to bed.

"Bedtime, you two," John said quietly, taking the sketchpad and pencil that Braden was holding and setting them on the bedside table. Sam glanced up from his book as he watched the twins playfully wriggle around until they were both situated under the covers. He was about to go back to his book when John cleared his throat meaningfully, glancing towards the bedside table.

"Sam, there was a lamp on this table last night before I left. Where is it now?"

_Shit. _

"Um…well, you see, it sorta…"

"Whatever line you're about to feed me, reconsider it now. I want the truth, Samuel."

_Damn._

"Dean…kinda knocked it over." _There. That was the truth. Sort of._

"Knocked it over? Or threw it?"

"Uh…" Sam floundered, trying to come up with something convincing but coming up blank.

"Nevermind—enough said. Were you or your brother planning to tell me, or did you think I wouldn't notice?" John asked curtly.

"Daddy, will you tuck us in?" Aubrey cut in sweetly, glancing quickly at Sam before angling a wide, innocent gaze on her father. _I so owe you one, Aub_, Sam thought as she successfully diverted John's attention. Sam watched his dad smile down at the twins indulgently, his annoyance forgotten as he tucked them in, brushing a hand over each head before turning to Sam with a playful smile.

"Do you wanna be tucked in, too, Sam?"

Sam flushed, not so much embarrassed by the question as he was by the fact that, because it was so rare an occasion these days for John to be home, or to pay attention, when they were going to bed, that Sam was forced to admit that he really _did_ want to be tucked in. _C'mon, Sam, don't be such a pansy. You're thirteen—not a little kid anymore._ _And if Dean found out, he'd so call me a girl and I'd never hear the end of it. _As though sensing Sam's dilemma, John's face lost its playfulness, leaving only a rare tender smile behind as he took Sam's book and placed it gently on top of Braden's sketchpad. Grabbing the covers in his large hand, he tugged them up and tucked them around Sam's shoulders. _Just like he used to when me and Dean were little. _Smoothing the tousled strands of Sam's wayward hair off his forehead, John leaned close to whisper in Sam's ear.

"Your brother's asleep—he'll never know."

"Thanks, Dad," Sam whispered.

"Night, kiddo," John said, ruffling Sam's hair before he stood, reaching over Sam to carefully pry the pillow that Dean was currently smothering himself with out of the death grip Dean had on it. Pulling it away, John lifted Dean's head and eased the pillow under him, smoothing a loving hand over Dean's hair before it settled on his forehead. John frowned worriedly at the heat emanating from Dean's skin, and Sam looked up at his father with a worried look of his own.

"Is he okay, Dad?"

"I'm worried that he might have an infection from one of these injuries," John told him, pulling back the sheet and easing Dean's shirt up to expose the bandaging around his middle. "And the fact that he's sleeping through me jostling him isn't exactly reassuring." Disappearing into the bathroom for a minute, he returned, placing the first-aid kit beside him as he sat back down on Dean's side of the bed. Rolling onto his side, Sam propped himself up on his elbow, watching as his dad opened up the kit and dug out the pair of scissors, making quick work of cutting through the bandaging.

"Dammit," John swore, and Sam looked from his father to his brother, frowning worriedly at the sight of the bloody, oozing gashes on Dean's side.

"Those red lines are bad, right?" Aubrey whispered, and both John and Sam looked up in surprise to see the little girl standing there with a concerned look.

"Aubrey, you're supposed to be in bed."

"I just wanted to check on Dean—he doesn't look so good," she told him.

"I thought you didn't like him much," Sam said skeptically.

"That was a little while ago. He doesn't feel good. People get cranky when they don't feel good, so I'll forgive him," she said graciously. "So…," she said, turning back to John, "them red lines are bad?" she asked again.

"Yeah, baby—'them red lines' are a sign of infection," John said softly, moving his hands up to Dean's neck to feel around his throat. "Lymph nodes aren't swollen, so at least that's something," he mumbled.

"Are you gonna take him to the doctor?" Sam asked his dad, biting his lip.

"Might not have a choice if I can't get this under control," John replied, digging around in the kit until he unearthed the bottle of antibiotics that he kept on hand. Unscrewing the lid, he poured the contents into his hand, only to scowl at what he saw.

"Son of a bitch," he murmured.

"What's wrong, Dad?"

"You been into these, Sammy?"

"No sir."

"No, of course you haven't," John said with a frustrated sigh.

"Then what's wrong, Daddy?" Braden suddenly asked, and both Sam and John looked up again to see Braden standing beside Aubrey, his blue eyes staring at John with confusion.

"You mean, other than the fact that you two should be in bed?"

"Uh huh," Braden said, completely unfazed by John's response.

"What's wrong is that your brother Dean has obviously been into these pills very recently, which can only mean that he knew he was getting an infection and didn't say a damn thing to me about it."

With a sigh, John poured the rest of the pills back into the bottle, leaving only one in the palm of his hand before he stood with a weary sigh. Eyeing the bathroom door for a second, he frowned before placing the pill on the bedside table.

"Braden, Aubrey, go back to bed. Sam, I'm going out to get your brother something to drink from the vending machine—he needs to take that pill. I'll be back in a few minutes." Braden ran back to the bed, snuggling under the covers and curling up on his side without a word, his eyes closed in an instant. Aubrey watched John head for the door with a troubled expression on her face before biting her lip and slowly following Braden back to bed.

"You'll stay and keep us safe, right, Sam?" she whispered.

"Yeah, 'course I will." With a nod, she scooted closer to Braden and settled in to watch the door for John's return. It didn't take long for their father to return from the vending machine outside the motel lobby, and before he was back, Aubrey had rolled over and closed her eyes, unable to fight the pull of sleep any longer.

"Ah, Dad, you shoulda gotten him Sprite," Sam griped as he saw the bright blue and red Pepsi can in John's hand.

"Son, I'm pretty damn tired—does it really matter what the hell I got from the vending machine?" John asked him sharply, placing the can on the bedside table and sitting down on the edge of the bed beside Dean.

"But… it's just…Sprite doesn't have all the caffeine that Pepsi does. I mean, c'mon, you sure you wanna give him a drink that's loaded with the stuff? You know how he gets…"

"Sam, he's sick—I don't think he's gonna be bouncin' around too much," John said with a shake of his head.

"Well, you're the one who instituted the 'no-caffeine-for-Dean' rule in the first place. But hey, if he doesn't sleep, don't say I didn't warn you," Sam said, knowing perhaps better than his father the hyperactive effect that a dose of caffeine could have on his older brother.

"It'll be fine, Sam."

"Says _you_. I'm the one that has to share a bed with him—if he doesn't sleep, neither do I."

"Yeah, well he's spent his share of nights up with you before. About time you returned the favor."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam whined. But he didn't mind, not really.

"Dean," John said softly, gently trying to coax his oldest into waking. Dean turned his head fitfully, not appreciating his father's attempts to waken him.

"Lea' me 'lone," Dean slurred, clumsily pushing John's hand away. Sam fought back a laugh, well aware that his father wouldn't find it at all funny.

"Son, I need you to wake up and take this."

"Don't need no more pills," Dean mumbled, trying to turn away from John, but the oldest Winchester was having none of it. _That Winchester stubbornness sure seems to come back to bite you in the ass a lot, huh, Dad_, Sam thought with a grin as he watched his father fight to wake his brother.

"Now, Dean," John was demanding, lightly slapping Dean's cheek to rouse him. With a groan, Dean shoved his father's hand away again, trying to roll over, but the pain the movement caused forced his eyes open with a harsh indrawn breath. "Sam, open that drink, will ya'?" John asked, nodding towards the can of Pepsi as he helped Dean sit up. Sam popped the top on the drink, licking up the drops that splashed onto his hand and sipping a bit off the top before handing it to his father. Dean took the pill John held out to him without a word, allowing John to hold the can steady as he took a sip to wash down the antibiotic. Judging from how Dean refused to meet John's eyes, Sam knew that Dean knew that John knew about the missing pills. _Yeah, you probably should have mentioned that you thought those gashes were infected, Dean. When you're feeling better, Dad is so gonna chew you out for that one._ After swallowing the pill, Dean took the can from John's hand, drinking from it thirstily before handing it back.

John helped Dean lie back down without another word, and Sam sighed in relief, glad that for once, his dad wasn't going to be difficult. _Which doesn't mean he won't be difficult tomorrow…but at least he's giving Dean a break for now. _Sam and John both watched Dean shift uneasily, his eyes drifting closed once more as he tried to settle back to sleep. In a few moments, he was once again asleep, and Sam was about to drop back to the bed and sleep himself when he caught his father staring at Dean with a funny look on his face.

"Dad, you okay?" Sam whispered, troubled by the guilt on his father's face.

"I should have noticed this, Sam. I let my focus narrow too much on the twins, and your brother's paying the price for it." _Why do you and Dean always feel guilty over shit that's not your fault? I mean, c'mon, not everything that happens in our family is your fault…Ok,_ most_ of it is, but _this_ isn't._

"It wasn't _your_ fault, Dad…Dean's funny about stuff like that. He wouldn't tell you if his arm was practically about to be torn off by some…I dunno…werewolf or somethin'. I mean, yeah, you were busy with Aubrey and Braden, but Dean coulda still told you he wasn't feelin' good."

John looked at Sam for a long minute before ruffling his hair affectionately.

"Thanks, kiddo. I needed that. Why don't you go on to sleep now?"

"We still leavin' tomorrow morning?"

"Doubt it. We'll see how Dean's feeling first."

"Kay. Night, Dad."

"Night, Sam."

As Sam once again settled into bed beside his brother, he felt a warmth filling him, and he couldn't help but smile as he closed his eyes, content for the moment that almost all was right with the world. Or at least, the world according to the Winchester family.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to those of you who are reading and adding me to your alert and favorite lists! And an extra thanks to those of you who are reviewing—reviews make me smile!

**zuimar**: You got your wish—another miserable-Dean chapter. What did you think? At this point, I'm thinking Chapter 11 will be the next Dean chapter, as I had to break up the John-centric Chapter 9…Chapter 10 was supposed to be Dean-centric, but now it's the second half of John's chapter…unless I shift to Sam's point-of-view…Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing for me!

**jade1056**: Ok, so more Dean angst here, and more to come! Let me know what you think! Thanks for reviewing—I love to hear from everyone!

**Poppyflake**: Thanks so much for reviewing for me—you left me a nice, meaty review last time, and it was very much appreciated! As far as Dean trying to hide the infection from John, he _is_ seventeen, so he's well into the mindset of "I can take care of myself." While he'll no doubt continue to be miserable for awhile, he's definitely going to come around—I already have a great scene planned, so I'm hoping you'll stick with me. Do expect a few more miserable-Dean chapters, though. Anyways, thanks again for reviewing!


	9. Trials and Tribulations

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks mimishell for all your help, especially with those tricky scenes where something doesn't read quite right and comes out sounding cheesy. And thanks to CagedTroll as well, for all the encouragement!

Chapter 9: The Trials and Tribulations of Parenthood

Hovering in the strange state between asleep and awake, John became aware of the uncomfortable sensation of being watched, and a lifetime of paranoia had taught him not to ignore it. Blinking open his eyes, he jerked back, startled by the sight of both twins seated on their knees on either side of him, each of them staring at him.

"Morning, Daddy!" Aubrey chirped. Foregoing a greeting, Braden settled for waving at his father, the happy smile on his face matching Aubrey's despite his lack of a chipper hello.

"What are you doing?" John asked, his voice emerging in a hoarse, gravelly rumble as he squinted at the clock, wincing when he saw that it was only a few minutes after six in the morning. _Hell, it's too early for this—pretty damn convenient how I just forgot that children under ten get up at the ass-crack of dawn. _

"Nothin," Braden told him. "We was just waiting for you to wake up."

"Yeah, we're bored," Aubrey finished.

"And hungry," Braden added matter-of-factly.

"Guys, your old man is tired—how about you two let me sleep a little longer?"

The twins shared a look before Aubrey released a much put-upon sigh.

"Fiiiiiine," she said. "C'mon, Bray, let's go color or something."

"Just stay inside. And don't mess up the salt-lines," John told them sleepily as he closed his eyes one more.

He couldn't say for certain how long he'd been asleep when he felt the impact of a small body land abruptly on his chest.

"Daddy!" _Aubrey—why am I not surprised?_ "Are you done sleepin' now?"

"Wha'?"

"Me and Bray have been waiting for a really long time now. Not even Sam will get up, which isn't fun, 'cause we don't got anybody to play with, and we've been coloring for a really long time, but we got bored, cause Bray didn't the get the crayon box that has all the colors in it—he only got that stupid box that only has twenty-four colors, and that's not enough colors 'cause I wanna color in my princess coloring book but Bray's stupid crayon box only has two pinks and that's not enough, so I decided we didn't wanna color no more, 'cept now we don't have anything to do, cause you wouldn't let us bring our toys—"

"We were gonna draw instead of color, but we changed our minds," Braden began, "'cause Aubby can't draw so good, and I don't want her stick-people in my sketchbook 'cause they're ugly."

"You can't draw people either, Bray!" Aubrey told him smartly. "You only draw those circly-squaredy things with the funny-looking shapes in 'em."

"They're not circly-squaredy things—they're traps and stuff, and they're better than stupid stick people anyway."

"Enough," John broke in. _Something's definitely fishy—they've done something…_ "What the hell's goin' on?"

"Nothing," Aubrey said lightly, her wide-eyed innocence instantly bringing a frown to John's face. Past experience as a father had long ago taught him that that look was anything but innocent.

"Alright, fess up. What did you do?" he asked, nudging Aubrey off him as he sat up.

"Well…" Aubrey hedged, trailing off. "It wasn't bad, not really." With narrowed eyes, John scanned the room, looking for anything out of place. _Whatever they've done, I've at least gotta give them credit for doing it quietly—both the boys are still asleep, and_ I _sure as hell didn't hear anything._ His eyes darted around the room, going first to the salt-lines laid out in front of the door and windows._ If they screwed up the salt-lines, I'll— _His gaze suddenly came to rest on Dean's bag, and he couldn't stop a curse from erupting from his mouth.

"Are you shittin' me? I know for damn sure that Dean's bag wasn't open like that last night, so somebody better start talking," he said sternly. "Why is his bag open?"

"Aubrey, I told you to close it," Braden whispered harshly.

"I thought you were gonna do it," she countered.

"If _I_ was gonna do it, then why would I have told _you_ to do it?"

"Well you don't hafta be mean about it—you're actin' like Dean," she said accusingly.

"I am not!"

"You are, too!"

"That's enough," John said impatiently, getting fed up with the bickering. "Now I asked a question and I expect an answer. Aubrey?"

"Um…what was the question again?"

"Why the hell is your older brother's bag open?" John asked, his voice beginning to tighten with frustration.

"Well…we were hungry…"

"We were just lookin' for a snack," Braden told him hesitantly.

_Oh, shit. Please don't tell me they ate his M&Ms. As if Dean didn't have enough reason to dislike the twins…_

"Did you eat the M&Ms?" he asked, pitching his voice low as he fought not to completely lose it.

"Yessir," they both answered softly, neither one of them able to look him in the eye.

"Dammit!" _Of all the things they had to get into it, it had to be the M&Ms, the one thing Dean keeps for himself, the one thing he won't share with _anybody_, not even Sam. _They flinched at his outburst, and John forced his body to remain still, breathing deeply in an attempt to rein in his temper. _Don't lose it, John. Keep it together. Can't lose it with the new kids—they're not ready for that yet. Just breathe through it. Breathe. Dammit. _"What made you think that it was okay to go through your brother's bag and take what didn't belong to you?" he asked, staring each of them down, once again speaking softly.

"We didn't mean to," Aubrey whispered apologetically.

"Dad, do ya' mind?" Sam spoke up suddenly from behind them. John looked back to see Sam staring blearily over at him, his head lifted off the pillow. "Tryin' to sleep here," Sam said irritably.

"Your brother awake?"

"No sir."

"Well, it's about time you got up—we're burning daylight."

"What're you bitchin' them out for, anyway? Isn't it a little early for that?"

John rolled his eyes heavenward, hardly surprised to find himself praying for patience. _I didn't have much to begin with, but my kids are gonna single-handedly destroy what little I have. _Feeling his blood-pressure rising, John knew it was time to step back before he blew his top. _Can't deal with this now. Time to go._

"Get up, Sam. You're gonna have to watch the twins while I go out," he said, throwing the covers aside and climbing wearily to his feet, crossing to his own bag, which rested against the wall, luckily untouched by the twins. _Good thing they got into _his_ bag and not mine—I forgot what it's like to have kids who don't know shit about handling firearms. Gotta take care of that and fast._

"Where you goin'?" Sam asked, yawning loudly as he sat up.

"Gas station down the road to buy Dean some more of those damn M&Ms that he hoards in his bag—the twins ate his stash," John said shortly.

"Oh shit," Sam said, his voice echoing with an almost morbid fascination over what Dean was likely to do when he found out. "He's gonna flip if he finds out. You gonna tell him?"

"Hell no. And if you know what's good for you, you won't either, understand?" he told Sam as he headed for the bathroom to get dressed.

"Yessir."

"Daddy, can we watch TV now, since Sam's awake, and Dean'll probly sleep through it?"

"No. What you _can_ do is sit there on the bed and think about how you royally screwed up by going through his bag."

"Do we gotta tell him?" Braden asked, his eyes worried as he stared up at John.

"I'm hoping it won't come to that."_ Unfortunately, with our luck, it probably will, because it doesn't take a genius to figure out that something's up when a partially empty bag of M&Ms suddenly becomes a brand-new, never-been-opened bag. And Dean's already pretty damn perceptive when it comes to his candy stash. _

"We didn't mean to eat _all_ of 'em," Aubrey started, but John cut her off.

"It's about more than the candy, Aubrey," he said, frowning down at them once again.

"But we didn't touch anything else, Daddy, we swear it!" Braden said fervently.

"Maybe so, but not only did you eat his candy, you invaded his space by going through his stuff, and there's _no_ excuse for that."

"We didn't mean to do _that_, Daddy—we were just hungry," Aubrey told him.

"Yeah? Well, you shouldn't have gone in his bag. We don't settle in one place for very long—we pretty much _live_ out of the car. What that means is that we don't have much space to call our own—everything we have we carry in those bags, and for you to start rooting around inside Dean's bag is the same as sneaking into someone's room and going through their personal belongings. Now you'd best make damn sure it doesn't happen again, understand?"

"Yessir," they mumbled, both of them looking miserably up at him before returning their gazes to the floor. With a last look, John disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door, but not before he heard Sam whisper, "You're lucky he only gave you the lecture—the spanking would have been a helluva lot worse." With a smirk, John got into the shower, hoping like hell that Dean didn't wake up before he got out. _Need to check his temp. He won't need the next round of antibiotic for awhile, but he's definitely due for a pain pill. _

When he got out of the shower and got dressed, he opened the door to see the twins staring pitifully back at him. Ignoring them for the moment, he shoved his feet into his boots and tied them before walking toward Dean, who'd scarcely moved since last night. Pushing Dean's hair back from his face, he placed his hand on Dean's forehead, relieved that he wasn't as warm as he'd been the night before. _Which doesn't exactly mean that he's feeling better, but at least it's something._

"So, Dad, we still gonna leave today?" Sam asked, stretching as he stood.

"Dunno, yet. We'll wait and see how Dean feels. Let him sleep a little longer, and then if he's feeling up to it, we'll go ahead and get the hell out of Dodge. While I'm gone, get showered and dressed, just in case we end up leaving. I won't be long," he told Sam, waiting for Sam's nod before turning to the twins.

"Can't we come with you, Daddy?" Aubrey asked, staring up at him with pleading eyes once again. "Pleeeeease. We'll pick out a bag of 'nimma-nims' for Dean—we'll get him a really good bag, too!" she told him earnestly.

"No. You two stay put, and--"

"But, Daddy," she started, but John was in no mood to listen to it.

"Don't whine at me—I don't wanna hear it. Stay here with your brothers—no TV, no coloring books, no sketchpads, nothing. Both of you sit here on the bed until I tell you otherwise, understand?"

"Yessir," they mumbled, and with that, John headed for the door, Aubrey's troubled gaze still on him as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

Walking through the door with a bag full of orange juice and milk cartons, as well as Dean's M&Ms and what he hoped was the least disgusting fare from the gas station's paltry breakfast menu, John was pleased to note that the twins were still where he'd left them, and the salt lines remained untouched.

"Here, Braden," he said, tossing the bag of M&Ms at the eight-year-old, "put these in Dean's bag and zip it up." Without a word, Braden hurried to do as he'd been told, while John busied himself taking breakfast out of the bag. Glancing at the bathroom where Sam was still showering, he sighed, shaking his head ruefully._Boy takes too damn long in the shower—he's as bad as Mary was, always wasting time just letting the water hit him. _ But John couldn't really find it in himself to be annoyed, not when his boy acted so much like his mother. Shaking his head with a bittersweet smile, John motioned the twins over to the table, and they darted over without a second thought, their earlier infraction obviously forgotten as they eagerly began unwrapping the food he'd brought.

"It's your turn to say the blessin', Braden," Aubrey said, pausing a second before taking a bite.

"No, it's not," Braden said, frowning back at her, his biscuit forgotten in his hand.

"Yes, it is," she argued, and John could feel a headache coming on once again as he prepared to step in and break up yet another argument.

"No, it's not," Braden said emphatically, before John could speak up. "We've been forgettin' to say it, but I said it the last time, before Daddy came. So, it's your turn now. And you better not lie and try to say it's not, 'cause God knows when you lie, and He wouldn't like it, 'specially if you lie about the blessing—that's worse than lyin' about other stuff."

With a sigh, Aubrey put her biscuit down, obviously agreeing with her brother about the seriousness of such an infraction as she grudgingly closed her eyes.

"Okay," she said grumpily. "God is great, God is good, let us thank Him for our food. By His hands, we shall be fed. Give us, Lord, our daily bread. Amen."

"Amen," Braden echoed, and without another word, both of them tucked into the food, eagerly chowing down as John looked on. _It's such a simple gesture, the blessing_, he reflected. _So innocent. Has it really been that long since I heard a child recite a simple blessing? It can't have been that long…_An ache in his chest hit him suddenly as he realized that it really _had_ been that long. _ It's been almost thirteen years since I've heard that sort of innocence_, he thought, for Sam had never been taught to say a blessing, and Dean had left all that behind the night his mother had died. John found himself suddenly recalling all of the time he and Mary had spent steadily teaching Dean to say his blessing before every meal, despite the youngster's impatience to eat. While Sam still possessed a certain innocence, it was a jaded innocence at best, John knew, and Dean hadn't had that sort of innocence or faith since Mary's death. _Dean hasn't spoken of God since—never blessed food, never prayed as far as I know. How did I not notice that? _ Even though John had been equally disillusioned with God after his wife's death, it hurt to realize that his two oldest children had paid the price for it, too. _ Maybe I can do better, try harder, with the twins. They've still got a chance, right? 'Cause hell, their mom is gone, probably for good, but here they are, saying a blessing over gas station biscuits. That's something at least, isn't it?_ He shook his head ruefully, knowing that nothing was likely to change. _Hell, I've been pissed off at God for over a decade—who am I trying to kid here? _

No longer willing to indulge the thoughts weighing him down, John shrugged them off and turned away, leaving the twins to their breakfast as he went to handle Dean. Sitting down on Sam's vacated side of the bed, John reached over and nudged his oldest.

"Son?"

Dean frowned, grimacing as he started to wake. His eyes blinked open, and John fought back a relieved sigh. _Good—looks like his reaction time is starting to improve a bit. Would've been better if he'd reacted when I sat down beside him, but I'll take what I can get at this point._

"How ya' feelin'?"

Dean blinked, seeming to take a moment to focus on John before his features abruptly cleared and he stared stoically back at John. He didn't answer, settling instead for easing out of bed and limping towards the bathroom, leaving his crutches behind without a word. _I suppose I should have counted on the silent treatment_, John thought with a heavy sigh.

As Dean disappeared into the bathroom, John knew without a doubt that Dean was about to execute a strategically timed flush of the toilet that would send Sam scurrying out of the shower at any moment. _Wait for it, wait for it._ Sure enough, approximately ten seconds later, the toilet flushed, followed by a sharp yell as the water turned bitingly hot. Seconds after _that_, Sam abruptly appeared in the bathroom doorway, a towel wrapped around his lanky frame and a perturbed look on his face.

"Dad, he did it again!" Sam complained.

"I know."

"Well, aren't you gonna say anything?"

"No," John told him simply. He knew by the look on Sam's face that his son was wondering what the hell was wrong with him, because they both knew it was a rare day when John didn't choose to bulldoze his way into any given situation that could be construed as the least bit confrontational.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because, Sam, I'm picking my battles. Sometimes, you have to know when to let it go," he said wearily, rubbing at his eyes before raking his hair with his hands.

"What's the matter, Daddy?" Aubrey asked softly, worriedly gazing at him, setting her half-eaten biscuit down to stare at him.

"Oh, not much. Just that's it still early, and we're already off to such a promising start to the day," John said dryly.

"Whatcha mean?"

"He means Dean is still pissed at him," Sam offered helpfully as he moved towards his duffel bag to grab clean clothes, earning a glower from John.

"But _you're_ not still mad at _him_ 'cause of last night?" Aubrey asked.

"No."

"How come?"

"Because, Aubrey, I'm a parent. Maybe not always the best one, but…just, sometimes a parent has to punish his children when they screw up. Dean messed up last night, but that doesn't change the fact that he's my son. Family is family, sweetheart, and that sort of connection doesn't disappear just because somebody makes a mistake."

"So…even though we ate Dean's 'nimma-nims' and digged through his stuff, you're not mad at us anymore?" Braden asked, he and Aubrey both gazing back at John with identical expressions of hope.

"No, son, I'm not mad."

"And…you still love us?" Aubrey asked softly, her words causing John's heart to clench at the sound of the caution in her voice.

"You're my children," John told her firmly, "Of course I do. No matter how pissed off at you I may get, I don't want you to ever doubt that, ok?" John waited for them to nod before he gave them a brief smile. "Now finish eating before your breakfast gets any colder."

"Um, Dad," Sam murmured pointedly, awkwardly holding his towel around his waist as he stood there staring at John with an embarrassed look as he cradled his clothes to his chest with his other hand.

"What?"

"Um…I…well, I sorta…I can't…."

"Dammit, Sam, just spit it out, son."

"I need to get dressed," Sam blurted out, his face turning an even brighter shade of pink than it had been a moment before.

"So what's stopping you?" John asked, beginning to dig around in his bag for his journal.

"Dad, my little sister's sittin' there," he complained. "I'm not gettin' dressed in front of _her_. I can't let my baby sister see my goods—that's gross." John fought back a grin at the resolute tone in Sam's voice, amused at the level of affront the thirteen-year-old had managed to voice.

"So go back in the bathroom," he told Sam, rolling his eyes as he went back to his search. _Honestly, the kid's brilliant, but sometimes he lacks common sense._

"I can't go back in there!" Sam exclaimed incredulously, staring back at John with a disbelieving look in his brown eyes.

"Why not?" John asked as he finally laid his hands on the journal that was nestled in its place at the bottom of his duffel.

"Cause Dean's acting all pissy, and if I go in there now, he's only gonna shove me back out again," Sam told him with a scowl.

With an irritated sigh, John walked over to the bathroom door and opened it, poking his head inside the steam-filled room where Dean was currently showering.

"Dean, let Sam in to get dressed," he ordered, and though Dean didn't respond, John knew the older boy wouldn't disobey. He held the door open, and Sam slipped in, one arm holding his clothes tightly to his chest while he held up his towel with the other. John pulled the door closed again, and was preparing to sit down with his journal and his breakfast when he heard a loud _thunk_, followed by a yelp. _And that would be the soap that Dean just chucked at Sam hitting the floor._

"Jerk," he heard Sam say, and though he couldn't hear his oldest's reply, John knew without a doubt that Dean had replied in kind with a heartfelt "bitch."

"Boys, knock it off!"

"Dean started it!" Sam yelled through the door.

The sound of a wet washrag smacking into a wall followed Sam's remark, and John rubbed his eyes tiredly, wondering not for the first time why his sons so often found it necessary to test his patience.

"Do I have to come in there?" he hollered, making certain they could hear the underlying warning in his voice. It was silent for a long moment, and John was just about to climb to his feet when Sam's voice called back meekly.

"No sir."

"Good. Now, you two quit screwing around and get out here—your breakfast is getting cold."

"We're comin'!" Sam yelled.

When the boys finally emerged from the bathroom, Sam fully dressed and Dean wearing a towel around his waist, the silent seventeen-year-old headed straight for his bag, causing John to wince at what was likely coming. _There's no way he won't notice the M&M switch. No way in hell. The question is, will he let it go or not?_

As Dean unzipped his bag, he frowned, staring down at what was no doubt the unopened bag of M&Ms sitting on top. He looked up, his eyes going first to Sam, who was completely unaware of his older brother's scrutiny, before darting over at the twins, who immediately looked down, unable to meet his eyes. As John watched, Dean's stare became hostile as he picked up the M&Ms in one hand and his clothes in the other and awkwardly straightened. John tensed, waiting to see what would happen, sure that it was going to be ugly.

"We're sorry we ate your 'nimma-nims', Dean," Braden said quietly, Aubrey nodding in agreement as they gazed at their older brother with apologetic eyes.

"Do you forgive us?" Aubrey asked, biting her lip as she stared back at Dean with hopeful eyes.

"Why the hell should I?" Dean said hotly.

"We got you a new bag," Aubrey pointed out, staring optimistically back at him.

"Who the hell cares!" Dean yelled back at them.

"Well if you don't care, then what're ya' screamin' about?" Aubrey asked, throwing her hands on her hips and glaring at Dean with a mixture of anger and confusion.

"You went through my shit, Aubrey! _My_ shit! Most of what I have, I have to share, but what I put in my bag is _mine_! The candy was mine, and you took it! Just _once_, I'd like to have something for myself, something I don't have to share with everybody else in this damn family!"

Furious, Dean hurled the bag of M&Ms across the room, only narrowly missing Boo's cage before disappearing once again into the bathroom to get dressed, slamming the door behind him. _Yeah, that went about as well as expected_, John thought, dragging a hand over his face wearily.

"Guess he's really mad at us, huh?" Aubrey asked sheepishly.

"Just give him some space, alright? He needs some time to adjust," John said quietly, wondering even as he said it whether or not Dean was going to come around anytime soon. Obviously, the twins were doubtful, too, if the looks on their faces were anything to go by, and Sam was looking none too sure himself. By the time Dean reemerged from the bathroom, this time fully dressed, John had decided not to say anything about the thrown bag of candy. _At least, not for the time being. It'll keep. But the boy's getting entirely too quick to throw things when he's pissed off…makes me wonder if he's broken more than just the damn lamp._

Picking up the last wrapped biscuit from the gas station bag, John tossed it to his oldest, Dean catching it easily. John watched him eye the biscuit for a long minute before he slowly unwrapped it, taking a small bite with a grimace.

"You up to travelin' today, Dean, or do you need another day to rest up?"

Dean shrugged, neither answering nor looking at his father, and John sighed, already tired of dealing with the emotional fallout of the twins' arrival. _And I thought dealing with Sam was a pain-in-the-ass. At least he yells and gets it out of his system. Dean holds shit in and lets it fester until he explodes all over the rest of us._

"Dammit, Dean, I want an answer. Now are you feeling well enough to get back on the road today, yes or no?" John asked, quickly getting fed up with his oldest, despite the guilt he was beginning to feel over chewing him out the night before. Dean dropped his biscuit down on the discarded wrapper with a look of complete disinterest, nodding almost imperceptibly as he carefully eased himself up, and grabbed for his coat. "Alright, then, let's move out," John said, admitting to a certain relief that they were about to be on the road again.

_Then again, maybe I shouldn't be so quick to feel relieved…Like being stuck in the car with a moody seventeen-year-old is gonna be so much better than sitting here in the motel room. Damn, I miss my truck. Dealing with Dean will be bad enough, but then you factor in the two eight-year-olds and Sam who'll also be trapped in the car for six hours, this drive is guaranteed to be hell…dammit, stop borrowing trouble, Johnny…_he thought, trying to shake off the growing sense of impending doom that was settling over him. _Maybe we should stay… Of course, that's just delaying the inevitable—we can't stay here forever. Then again, I still haven't had a chance to go back to Elaine's and take a closer look around_._ For every day that goes by, the trail gets a little colder…Maybe I should just leave the kids here for awhile, go back and take a better look around for any signs of whatever took her. _But he couldn't ignore the gut feeling he had that was telling him to get his children the hell away from there. He stood, resolutely coming to a decision. _I'll go back after the kids are safely stashed away with Jim. Hope Jim doesn't mind if I leave him with a few more than usual. _

* * *

With help from Sam and the twins, John was able to load the Impala relatively quickly despite the added luggage they'd acquired, although John was beginning to wonder just how much of the twins' stuff was actually comprised of Aubrey's accumulated books, crayons, and other shit. Dean went to sit in the car and was half-asleep before they even finished loading, leaving John more than a little concerned that the antibiotic was so far having little effect on the infection that was setting in. _It's still early, though…takes some time for antibiotics to get into the system—I'll give it a bit of time to kick in before I start thinking about taking him to a doctor. _

As Sam, Aubrey, and Braden clambered into the backseat, Boo's cage held safely in Aubrey's lap, John retrieved a soft-drink from the vending machine and slid into the driver's seat. Reaching out, he placed the back of his hand against Dean's cheek, not at all pleased with the flushed appearance of his cheeks and the warmth he still felt against his hand, a decidedly more heated warmth than it had been only a short time ago. _Screw it, I'm giving him the next dose now._

"Dean." With an annoyed grunt, Dean stirred, looking back at John with bleary eyes. "Here, take this," he said, holding out another antibiotic in addition to the soft-drink can. "I'm hoping we can stop this infection before it gets any worse. As Dean wordlessly took the pill from John's outstretched hand, John knew his oldest was feeling worse than he was letting on. _No way does he take meds without fightin' me on it, not unless he feels like absolute shit. Can't believe he actually thought he could keep me from finding out…'course, I should have expected it from him._ "If you weren't feelin' so bad, I'd tear you a new one for trying to hide how bad that wound looked. You try to pull that shit again, you'll regret it, understand?"

Nodding, Dean took one last swig from the soft-drink before holding it over his shoulder for Sam. The younger boy took it with a heartfelt thanks, taking a few sips before glancing down at Aubrey, who was staring up at him with pleading eyes. With a tolerant smile, Sam passed the Pepsi to her, to which she responded with a smile before taking a sip of her own and passing it on to Braden.

"Alright, here's the plan," John began, surprising not only his children but himself by actually offering them insight into his plans. "I'd like to reach— "

"Didja get their papers and shit?" Dean's abruptly mumbled question cut John off before he could finish, catching the older man completely off guard. He shifted his gaze away from the road to look over at his oldest son, only to see Dean still staring blankly through the windshield, refusing to meet John's eyes.

"First of all, don't interrupt me. Second of all, what the hell are you talking about?" he asked, ignoring the twinge of guilt that he had felt when Dean refused to look at him.

"Birth certificates, Social Security cards, you know—all that crap you'll need to get them in school?" he replied flippantly.

_Oh, shit... It's pretty bad when your seventeen-year-old remembers these things more than you do, Johnny-boy. How could I forget all that?_

"You forgot, didn't you?" Sam asked, snickering at his father's expense, which earned him a harsh frown from John that served to silence him.

"No, Sam, I didn't forget—I've just had a lot more important things on my mind," John replied, knowing even as he said the words that his boys didn't believe the lie any more than he did.

"Figures," Dean muttered under his breath, and John aimed a sharp gaze at him.

"You wanna repeat that?"

"No sir."

"That's what I thought," John said, unwilling to tolerate blatant disrespect no matter how bad Dean was no doubt still feeling. He started the car and backed out of the parking lot, frowning as he was forced to swing a left, back towards Elaine's, instead of right towards the Interstate. "I don't suppose you two know where your mother stashed your birth certificates and stuff, do you?" he asked the twins.

"No sir," Braden said absently, leaning his head against the window and closing his eyes.

"Aubrey, what about you?"

"Nope, sorry," Aubrey told him matter-of-factly, not bothering to look up as she began to open Boo's cage.

_Great, another delay while we drive back to their house and tear the place apart looking for everything_, John thought with a sigh.

"Don't you let that thing out in my car," Dean said sharply, interrupting John's train-of-thought. "You keep it in the freakin' cage—I mean it. Sister or not, I swear if I find rat turds anywhere in my car, I don't care what Dad says, I'll kill the damn thing."

_Ok, that wasn't quite the acceptance of his siblings that I was hoping for, but at least Dean's acknowledging them…that's a breakthrough, right? _Glancing back, John watched Aubrey with a discerning gaze, instantly aware that Aubrey was a step away from seeing just how far she could push her older brother, her eyes narrowing as her hand began to close around Boo. _Shit, it was bad enough when they went through his stuff and ate his candy, but if she pushes it with the rodent, Dean's gonna completely lose it—time to intervene._

"Aubrey, leave it in the cage," John ordered, his tone making it clear that he meant what he said.

"But Daddy, nobody's held him in a really long time, and he's lonely," she protested.

"_I said_ leave him in his cage. Don't argue with me."

"But—"

"It's Dean's car, and if he doesn't want Boo loose in his car, then that's final. AND if I have to say it again, I'll be stopping the car. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yessir," she mumbled, letting Boo drop harmlessly back down, an angry pout on her face as she secured the lid on the cage.

"Thanks for reminding me about all of that shit before we got too far," John told Dean quietly.

"I shouldn't have had to," Dean replied, his words hitting home despite the soft tone.

"Do you and I need to have another chat?" John asked, his voice dropping as he cast a stern look at his oldest.

"No sir," Dean replied after a tense moment, turning his gaze from the windshield to the side window, visibly retreating as far as possible from his father.

_Dammit! Way to smooth things over, John…hell, you know he's right—why are you biting his head off for telling you? _As the Impala ate up the miles between the motel and Elaine's house, John couldn't ignore the growing ache in his chest when he recalled some of the last 'chat' he'd had with his son the night before.

He bitterly regretted some of the things he'd said to his oldest, knowing he'd likely hurt Dean quite a bit. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the words caught in his throat, and John found himself unable to tell his son what he knew the boy needed so badly to hear. _I'll make it up to him, I swear._

* * *

A/N: Thanks to those of you who reviewed! It was great to hear from you all, and it was really encouraging! And for all of you who are reading and adding me to your alerts and favorites, thanks to you as well. Send reviews—don't be shy! LOL!

**Bunty**: Thanks for taking the time to review! I'm trying very hard to keep the kids realistic, so I'm glad to hear that you find them believable. I find family dynamics to be incredibly fascinating, so I enjoy writing these scenes. Of course, I've sort of neglected the plot in favor of the character/family development, but oh well…we all have to make sacrifices, right?

**dgeo98**: So how did I do with moody Dean in this chapter? Keep an eye on Braden—more little tidbits of information about him will be forthcoming.

**Hero Lilly**: Glad I took another look at the reviews…almost forgot that you asked me to email you when I posted this chapter. Anyways, let me know what you thought of the chapter! Anyways, thanks for the compliment and the review!

**Poppyflake**: I already replied to your review, but I just wanted to say thanks for faithfully reviewing—I always look forward to hearing from you!

**cozmikfaerie**: So how did I do with the family dynamics in this one? Realistic?

**zuimar**: So I was able to keep to my projected posting date, so here it is! I'm hoping to have Chapter 10 up in a week or so…it might take a bit longer though, because it's not quite finished yet. We'll see…


	10. Anything that Can Go Wrong

A/N: Sorry about the longer-than-usual wait, everyone! Just when I thought the chapter was a go, my betas pointed out some problems with one of the scenes in this chapter, and because I went out of town this weekend, I didn't have a chance to fix it until late Sunday evening…then, of course, I had to wait for a final yay or nay from at least one beta…CagedTroll read this twice for me, bless her soul! So anyways, an extra-special thanks goes to mimishell and CagedTroll for helping me make this chapter better than it was the first go-round. Hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 10: Anything that Can Go Wrong, Will Go Wrong

The drive to Elaine's was scarcely longer than thirty minutes, but by the time they pulled up, Braden had fallen asleep against the door, the sugar-rush of the morning having long since run its course, and Dean was in a mild, fever-induced stupor.

As John turned off the engine, Aubrey excitedly threw open her car door, pulling Sam simultaneously out of the car.

"Sam, come on! I wanna show you my room!" she yelled happily, leaving him behind as she ran for the house. John shot out of the car, his heart pounding furiously in his chest as he raced after her.

"Dammit, Aubrey, stop!" He caught up to her at the door, grabbing her by the arm and jerking her around to face him. "You never run into a place unaware like that, Aubrey—you don't know what's inside!" he yelled.

"But…Daddy, it's our house!" she said tearfully. "It's not bad, I know it!"

"Whatever came into your house and took your mother could have come back, Aubrey—we don't know that it's not waiting inside! Don't you _ever_ do that again, do you understand me?" he demanded, his tone harsh. Her eyes filling with tears, she nodded before she threw herself at him, burying her face in his stomach and wrapping her arms around him.

"Dammit, Dad—you didn't have to bite her head off. She didn't know any better," Sam said, stepping forward to stand in front of John with a disapproving look on his face.

"Yeah, well, she's gotta learn," John said, looking back at Sam resolutely and unrepentantly, even as he rubbed a soothing hand up and down Aubrey's back.

"Well, you could have just _told _her, instead of yelling at her," Sam argued, obviously having no problem starting something with John on Aubrey's behalf.

"Listen, son, I've been in this game for almost as long as you've been alive—I'm hard on all of you for a reason. We're in a war here, up against things so evil you can't even imagine it, and we don't have time to piss around while the twins try to play 'catch-up'. They have to learn, and they have to learn _now_ because _later_ could get them hurt or killed."

"Why can't you just be our dad, instead of acting like our drill sergeant! I mean, hell, Dad, me and Dean are used to it, but you could at least try to be their dad for awhile before you turn all 'Marine Corp' sergeant on them!"

"I do what I have to do to keep all of us safe, and if you don't like that, then that's too damn bad—because when it comes to the safety of this family, what I say goes, and you don't argue with me, understand?"

Sam didn't answer, and John straightened, unwilling to let the issue go until Sam submitted. After a long, tense moment, Sam's eyes dropped, and though the stubborn set of his jaw remained, John decided to take what he could get. _Hell, these days, that's as good as it's gonna get. _

Turning his attention back to Aubrey, John pried her away from him, crouching down to stare into her doleful eyes gravely. "Always wait for me or Dean to check a place out before you go in, understand? The same goes for Braden, ok?"

" 'kay," she said softly, sniffling pitifully before she fell against him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. John wrapped an arm around her, regretting that he'd had to be so forceful, but realizing the necessity of it nevertheless. _We can't afford sentimentality when it comes to shit like this. _

"Sam, wait here with your sister—I'll be right back." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked back to the car, where Dean was gazing back at him tiredly, his head propped against the window. Braden had shifted, his small frame now stretched out across the backseat as he continued to sleep. Sliding into the front seat, John leaned over and opened the glove compartment, grabbing the EMF meter and the gun he'd stashed there earlier before straightening, his eyes on his oldest.

"You wanna just wait here in the car with Braden while I go in with Aubrey and Sam? I'm hoping it won't take long."

Dean nodded in lieu of a response, and John sighed, truly feeling what it was like to not have his oldest son's support. _Guess I took it for granted that Dean would always back me up. Kid's always had my back, but now…God, I hope this passes. I need him more than I want to admit, even to myself. _

"Keep an eye on Braden," John told him. "If I don't find those papers and shit in less than fifteen minutes, wake him up and the two of you come on inside. Roll the windows down so you don't overheat."

"I got it, Dad," Dean said impatiently, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back against the headrest. Fighting back another sigh, John let the car door slam shut behind him as he walked back to the house. With Sam and Aubrey behind him, he picked the lock on the door and slowly pushed it open, a stench rolling out that was strong enough to leave him wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Ugh, what's that smell?" Sam asked, his hand coming up to cover his nose. "Man, that reeks!"

John's gaze darted around the kitchen, frowning at the sight that greeted him. It was obvious where the stench was coming from, as the refrigerator door hung open, its contents spilled and leaking across the floor._ Damn, when the cops finally get clued into this, things could get messy...gotta make sure there's no trace of me being here. At least if they start looking for me, I can just feed them some bullshit story about picking the kids up for a weekend and coming back to find Elaine gone...I can explain away the damage with some cock-and-bull about looters or something..._

"Somebody wrecked our kitchen, Daddy," Aubrey said, her voice clearly expressing her outrage at this offense.

"I can see that Aubrey. You two stay here until I give you the all-clear. Understand?"

"Yessir," Sam said, for once, not arguing as he stepped protectively in front of his sister.

John cautiously walked inside, the gun held tightly in his right hand while he scanned the room with the EMF meter in his left hand. The lights on the EMF meter jumped into red for a slight moment only to settle into a steady yellow, indicating that whatever had been here was long gone. _Nothing but residual energy—dammit. So much for finding out anything new. Any clues this thing left behind have long since disappeared. _ The rest of the house revealed more of the same—rooms a mess, furniture broken and torn apart. But John recognized the destruction for what it was. _Whatever demonic entity was in the house, it wasn't looking for anything this time—it wrecked the place because it was pissed off. Question is, what was it after when it came here the first time, and what pissed it off the second time? Obviously, it got Elaine when it came the first time, but this time…what the hell is motivating it? _Returning to the kitchen, John stilled as he caught sight of Aubrey huddling beside Sam, her fists clenched in the hem of his t-shirt as she peered around him anxiously. _Shit—that's it. The only difference between the first time the demon came and the second time is the kids. It was after the kids. Shit. We gotta get those papers and get the hell out of here, in case it comes back. I'm not equipped to hold off a demon, especially not with four kids in tow. _Stirred into motion by that thought, he motioned for Sam and Aubrey to come inside, tucking the EMF in his back pocket.

"Sam, take Aubrey and start searching the den for those papers. Look for social security cards, birth certificates, anything that looks important. Keep your eyes open, and yell if anything happens."

"What about you? What are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna take Elaine's bedroom. Keep her with you, Sam, I mean it."

"Yeah, ok," Sam said, turning away with Aubrey on his heels, picking his way through the debris on the floor as he and Aubrey headed for the den. John watched them go before turning and heading down the hall towards Elaine's bedroom. Her room wasn't quite as bad as the rest of the house, and while things had still been broken and torn apart, the furniture was at least still largely intact.

Standing in the doorway, John cast a cursory glance around, his sharp gaze honing in on the almost minute scorch-marks that were barely discernable on the carpet. Walking closer, John knelt, his fingers lightly skimming the scorch-marks, frowning at the dark residue that now coated his fingers. Wiping his fingertips on his jeans, he stood, making a mental note to check with Bobby about what sort of demonic fugly would leave behind scorch-marks. Turning his attention to the furniture, he paused to wonder just where Elaine might have stashed the important documents. _Maybe the chiffrobe—women store shit in those all the time, don't they?_

When the chiffrobe didn't provide what John was looking for, John grudgingly turned to face the crawlspace under the bed. Lying down on his stomach, he glanced under the bed only to grimace at the number of boxes Elaine had crammed there. _Shit. That's all I need. My luck, the papers are in the hardest-to-reach box._ With a sigh, he pulled the first one out and sat up, dumping the contents onto his lap. A quick perusal told him that this wasn't the box he wanted, as he found himself staring at an enormous pile of colored construction paper creations made by the twins at various ages. _C'mon, Elaine—did you really have to keep _all_ of this? _Shoving the stack of drawings and homemade cards aside with an annoyed sigh, he dropped back onto his stomach and reached for the next box. Which proved no more useful than the first. Neither did the third or fourth. He was reaching for the fifth, when the EMF meter in his back pocket suddenly went off.

Startled, John jerked, the back of his head slamming against the bed-frame, even as the EMF continued to beep in his pocket. _Dammit! Stupid thing—there's nothing to pick up in here…just the same damn residual energy as before. There's nothing here! Blasted thing must be broken again._ _ Still, wouldn't hurt to take a look…better safe than sorry. _ Scooting out from under the bed, he rubbed at his head and pulled out the EMF meter, preparing to scan the room only to frown at the sight of Braden standing silently in the doorway.

"What are you doin' here?"

When the EMF meter continued to beep, John huffed in frustration before turning it off and shoving it into his back pocket. Braden shrugged, walking forward with a manila folder in his hands.

"You're looking in the wrong place. Here—I believe you were searching for this," he said, offering John the folder. Taking it with a frown, John opened it and began to flip through the contents with a discerning gaze.

"Sonovabitch," he murmured before looking up at Braden incredulously. "Son, you told me you didn't know where this stuff was," he said, staring his down sternly.

"Did I?" Braden asked enigmatically, his eyes sparkling with a strange amusement. "My apologies."

It was an odd response coming from an eight-year-old, but before John could question the boy further, Braden turned and left as quietly as he'd come. Closing the folder, John stood and started to follow, pausing for a moment to consider whether he should put the boxes back where he'd found them. Aubrey and Sam appeared then, Aubrey hurrying into the room while Sam lingered in the doorway.

"Did you find 'em, Dad?" Sam asked, jamming his hands into his pockets. "'Cause we didn't find shit in the den."

"Yeah, Braden found them somewhere."

"Braden? I thought he was in the car with Dean."

"Yeah, well, obviously not," John told him, turning his attention away from Sam to see Aubrey carefully lifting a necklace and a ring out of the overturned jewelry box lying on the floor. She slipped them into her pocket before coming over to slip her hand into John's.

"It's scary here now, Daddy," she said, staring up at him sadly. "I don't wanna stay here no more. Can we go?"

"Yeah, sweetheart, let's go." John led the way to the kitchen door, only to pause when something caught his eye as they passed the doorway to the den. Reversing, he peeked into the den, only to see Braden lying on the couch, once again asleep. Stepping into the room, he stopped next to the couch, leaning down and nudging the little boy. Braden rolled away from him, curling up on his side, his back to John as he continued to slumber.

"Wake up, Braden," John said, shaking Braden's shoulder gently. "We gotta go, kiddo."

"I don't wanna," Braden mumbled sleepily, and John knew without a doubt that the tiredness was leading to an irritable whininess that years as a father had given him a lot of experience with. _Not that experience equals tolerance._

"Tough. Let's go—up and at 'em."

Braden's face crinkled into a frown, and he stared up at John with the tired eyes of an eight-year-old a step away from dissolving into a crying fit.

"But I'm tired," Braden said, his voice thick with unshed tears.

_Damn. And I thought _he_ was the reasonable one…What the hell was I thinking? Eight-year-olds aren't reasonable._

"Braden, you were just up—I don't want to hear any of this whining shit. Now get up."

"I was _not_ just up," Braden cried, burying his face in the couch pillow as he started to cry.

"I don't have the time or the patience to deal with this. Let's go," John ordered, grabbing Braden's arm and lifting him into a standing position beside the couch. Maintaining a grip on the small boy, he pushed Braden ahead of him, ignoring the sound of Braden's sniffles as they caught up with Sam and Aubrey.

As they reached the car, Braden broke away from John and ran to the car door, jumping into the backseat and slamming it shut behind him, sliding across the backseat to get as far away from John as possible, seemingly unaware that he'd placed himself directly behind the driver's seat where John would be sitting shortly.

"Don't be mad, Daddy," Aubrey said earnestly. "He just does that sometimes."

"Does what, whines?"

"No. Does stuff that he doesn't remember. It happens when he goes to sleep sometimes."

"Shit—are you tellin' me he sleepwalks?"

"Um, I don't _think _so. He always looks awake to _me_." He'd looked awake to John, too, but having never been around anyone else who sleepwalked, he really couldn't say if Braden's behavior was abnormal or not. With an angry sigh, John opened the door again for Aubrey and Sam before opening his own door. Slipping behind the wheel, John turned a heated glare on Dean who was rubbing his forehead as he straightened in the seat.

"And what the hell were _you_ doin' when you were supposed to be watching him?" John asked harshly.

"He wanted to go inside—I didn't think it was that big a deal," Dean replied irritably.

"Yeah, you didn't_ think_, Dean, and you let your brother just waltz into God-knows-what kind of a situation!"

"What are you talking about?" Dean yelled back incredulously, "You were inside!"

"And for all you knew, I could have been dead, and a demon was waiting inside to kill your brother! You can't let your guard down, Dean—actions like that could get someone killed! How many times do I have to tell you—constant vigilance! That's how we stay alive! Now you'd better get it together, son, and you better do it fast," John yelled, fighting to rein in his temper as he watched the myriad of emotions cross over his oldest son's face. Bringing his anger under control was never an easy task, but it was made all the more difficult by the worry he felt whenever he felt the pressure of protecting his children.

Dean's eyes hardened, the stubborn tilt to his jaw as he turned away from his father a dead ringer for John's own. _Lord, why do my children all have to end up with a carbon copy of every bad trait that I have?_ _Why can't they ever take after their mothers? I mean, c'mon, God, they got more than my DNA here—give me somethin' to work with!_

Taking a deep breath, John sighed, slowly exhaling, even as his fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

"Dean, look, I— " he began apologetically.

"Forget it, Dad," Dean said tightly, not giving John another glance as he slumped against the door. "It won't happen again."

The car became painfully silent as John drove out of the driveway for the last time, Braden continuing to sniffle, even as Aubrey picked up one of the multitude of pillows she'd crammed into the back floorboard and passed it over to him with a hesitant smile. Braden took it, shoving it against the door and burying his face in it. John cast a look back at them in the rearview mirror, watching Aubrey as she forewent the pillow in favor of Sam's shoulder, the thirteen-year-old seemingly oblivious as he fiddled with the Walkman he'd borrowed from Dean.

Turning his eyes back to the road, John switched on the radio, hoping to make the silence a little less uncomfortable. He'd never been a man ill-at-ease with silence, but when the silence in question was a result of tension with one of his children, it was never easy. They hadn't traveled more than ten minutes when Braden suddenly lifted his head, his face taking on a greenish hue.

"Daddy, I don't feel good."

_Shit._

"What's the matter?"

"Bray gets carsick," Aubrey piped up helpfully.

"What the hell, Aubrey—he was fine yesterday when we got in the car!" John exclaimed.

"Yeah, sometimes he's okay on short trips, but long trips make him feel all icky and throw-up-y."

"Ugh, you're not gonna puke, are you?" Sam asked Braden nervously.

When Braden didn't answer, Dean shot up in the seat, turning a panic-stricken gaze on his father.

"Dad, do something! He's gonna hurl in my car!"

John didn't waste time arguing as he quickly pulled off the interstate, knowing well enough that getting the stench of vomit out of a car was pretty damn difficult, and in the South Carolina heat, airing out the Impala would be an absolute bitch. Crawling over Sam and Aubrey in his haste to get out, Braden lunged for the door-handle, throwing the door open and falling on his knees outside the car. John winced sympathetically at the sound of retching, even as Sam cringed.

"Mama always keeps a bucket in the car with us when we go places—you should have gotten it out of her car," Aubrey told him matter-of-factly.

"And you didn't think it was important to mention that sooner?" John asked, turning around in the seat to stare at her.

"I forgot," Aubrey said with a shrug. "Sorry," she said, paying John no attention as she pulled a Barbie doll out of her backpack and began to comb its hair. Shaking his head, John threw open the car door and climbed out, walking around the car to where Braden was crouched on the ground, his arms wrapped around his middle as he stared sickly down at the ground.

"Feelin' any better?" John asked him softly, rubbing Braden's back soothingly.

"Uh-uh," Braden mumbled pitifully, looking up at John with a sick expression as he cradled his stomach.

"You need to throw-up again?"

"Not right now." _And why doesn't that make me feel any better?_ John thought, fighting back yet another headache as he calculated how long this trip was really going to take when he factored in the stops he was going to have to make for Braden to throw-up.

"Well, we can't sit here on the side of the road all day, so how about we get back in the car?"

"I don't wanna ride no more," Braden told him, his eyes filling with tears as he stared back at John pitifully.

"Bray, we haven't even made it to the state-line—we've still got a long way to go, kiddo," John told him sympathetically. _Yeah, like twenty hours…_

"Dad?"

Turning, John saw Sam leaning out of the window with an excited expression.

"What is it, Sam?"

"That sign up there says there's a gas station a few miles ahead—we can stop and get Bray some of that carsick stuff!" Sam announced, his face alight with pride that he'd come up with a solution.

"Carsick stuff?"

"You know—that junk that keeps you from hurling in the car."

"Alright, let's get you back in the car, Braden, and then we'll stop up ahead and get you something to settle your stomach, ok?" John asked.

"Or we could leave Braden here with you, get the stuff, and come back for him so that he doesn't puke all over my interior," Dean said, staring out at John and Braden from the front seat.

"No, Dean," John said, unwilling to waste his energy reprimanding his son for being insensitive. "We're all going, and that's final."

Ten minutes and two stops later, John handed Braden the little orange Dramamine, and the family settled in to wait for it to take effect, Dean absolutely adamant that they weren't leaving the parking lot until he was convinced that the Impala's interior was safe.

"Dad, can I go in and get a soda?" Sam asked, leaning forward so that his arms were resting on the back of the front seat. "Please?"

"Just take a sip of Braden's, Sam—he's not gonna drink it all, and there's no need to waste."

"Ugh, Dad, he just puked, like, eight minutes ago! I'm not drinking after him!"

"You're not gettin' a soda that'll end up spilled all over my back seat, Sam," Dean broke in.

"I won't spill it!" Sam said hotly.

"I didn't say _you'd_ spill it. Bad enough that Braden's got one, but adding one more is askin' for trouble. I don't have cup-holders in the back, and you're not getting one, so shut it," Dean finished, his tone making it clear that he'd make a real issue of it if Sam didn't let it go.

"Dad—"

"It's your brother's car, Sam," John told him, unwilling to go against his eldest on the issue. _If I fight him on this, things are gonna be a hundred times worse, and I just don't have the damn energy for it. _"Here, take a sip of Dean's," he said, passing the Pepsi from the motel vending machine back once again.

"You want some, Aubrey?"

"Uh-uh," Aubrey said, shaking her head emphatically. John glanced at her, noting the growing look of discomfort on her face as she squirmed surreptitiously in her seat.

"Aubrey, do you need to use the head?"

"What?"

"The restroom—do you need to go?"

"No sir," she said hastily, and John knew instantly that she was lying through her teeth.

"Aubrey."

"I don't wanna go," she told him seriously.

"Why not? You got something against public restrooms? Look, I know they can be nasty, but just…don't touch anything, and you'll be fine," John replied.

"I don't wanna go by myself."

"Um…sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but you're the only female here. None of us can take you. Now I can walk you as far as the door, but you're on your own after that."

"Then I don't wanna go," she said, crossing her arms over her chest adamantly.

"Aubrey, it's gonna be a long trip—you need to go now, because I'm not stopping ten miles down the road."

"I'm fine."

_That should be the Winchester family motto_, John thought, shaking his head with a sigh. _It's practically become the token response for everything._ Deciding to let her learn the hard way, John let it go for now, despite his suspicion that _he_ would be the one to learn the hard way in the end.

* * *

Two hours later, the car was silent except for the soft sound of John's music filtering through the speakers and Sam's foot tapping to the beat of whatever song he was listening to on Dean's Walkman. At last glance, Aubrey was absentmindedly posing her Barbie, and Braden had succumbed to the drowsy effect of the Dramamine, his body slumped bonelessly against the door. Dean was out cold as well, the pain pill's usual effect no doubt aided by the fever he was still fighting. _I hope he can hold out until we reach Pastor Jim's—I'd rather reach his place than have to stop at a motel for the night. 'Course, if he gets any worse, I'm not gonna have much of a choice. _

"Dad, Aubrey's about to wet her pants," Sam announced suddenly from the back seat, breaking the peace and quiet that had settled over the car. Glancing back in the rearview mirror, John saw Aubrey staring back at him with a look of sheer desperation on her face, and John sighed.

"Gotta hand it to you, kiddo—you lasted a lot longer than I thought you would. There's a fast-food joint about two miles up the road. I'll pull in there."

"Are you gonna go with me, Daddy?"

"Aubrey, I can't go in the women's restroom with you," John said, his voice tinged with growing exasperation.

"You could take me in the men's restroom," she told him cajolingly.

"You can't go in the men's room," Sam said with a laugh, his headphones around his neck as he listened with amusement to his sister.

"I didn't ask _you_, Sam—I asked _Daddy_."

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry, but Sam's right about that one—the men's room is a no-go."

It was quiet for a moment, and John was thinking he might have actually won a round, when Aubrey let loose with a wail that was loud enough to wake the dead. Or in this case, Dean and Braden, John's heavily-medicated children who had, up until then, been asleep.

"What the hell are you screamin' about?" Dean yelled, scrubbing his hand through his hair roughly before turning to glare at Aubrey.

"I want Mama! I don't want to be here no more!" _I shoulda seen this one coming…shit._

"Aubrey…" John began, but her sobs cut him off.

"I need to pee-pee, and I don't wanna go alone, and it's all your fault, Daddy!" she yelled. For a moment, John winced, feeling his heart clench tightly as he wondered if she'd put it all together—that being his children had put them at risk, that being his children had led to the attack on their mother.

"Don't cry, Aubby," Braden said softly, his weary eyes blearily focusing on his sister. "It'll be okay."

"No, it won't! I want Mama to come back! Then I wouldn't have to go alone!"

"Dammit, would you stop screaming already? It's not Dad's fault that you didn't piss when you had the chance," Dean yelled back, his fever and his nerves fraying his temper and his patience simultaneously.

"But it's Daddy's fault that I don't got a sister to go with me!" Aubrey sobbed.

"Or it's Dad's fault that you're not our third brother," Sam offered helpfully, a smart aleck grin on his face.

"You're not helping, Samuel. Dean, stop yelling at your sister—she's already upset enough as it is. Sam, make yourself useful and see if you can get her to stop crying."

"She's being a total…" Dean began.

"Dean." With an angry sigh, Dean slumped back against the door once more, staring morosely out the window, visibly withdrawing from the situation.

"Dad, why don't you just pull over and let her piss in the woods like you make us do sometimes," Sam reasoned as he awkwardly hugged Aubrey to him with one arm around her shoulders. Patting her back, he looked up, meeting John's eyes with a hopeful expression.

"Because it's different with girls, Sam," John said with growing exasperation. "Our luck, she'd end up pissing all over herself. Look, I'm sure we'll pass a rest-stop soon."

But five minutes later, when Aubrey was looking desperate, her face red and tears still streaking down her face as she cried, John was beginning to reevaluate his plan to wait for a rest-stop.

"Um, Dad, she's gettin' pretty squirmy, back here…maybe we should just risk it and pull over," Sam said.

"Dad, just pull over already, before she pisses all over the backseat of my car," Dean broke in suddenly. "So what if she has shitty aim and pisses all over her clothes—she's got a bag of clean ones in the back," he pointed out in annoyance.

"Daddy, I can't hold it no more!" Aubrey sobbed out.

"Dad, do something!" Sam yelled anxiously, obviously well aware that being in the middle of the backseat put him in the precarious position of possibly being peed on if his sister couldn't hold it.

"Dammit!" With a myriad of curses echoing in his mind, John pulled over, immensely glad that they were surrounded by trees on both sides of the road. "Boys, stay here," he barked angrily as Aubrey threw open the door, urgently dancing in place as she waited for John. Grabbing her hand with a sigh, he headed for the tree line, wondering if the day could get any worse._ This has gotta be the worst car trip I've ever been unfortunate enough to take—it's like the Car Trip from Hell. Dean's being a pain-in-the-ass, and if one kid isn't pukin' up his guts in the backseat, another one is about to piss all over it. For once, Sam's qualifying as the least troublesome. Not that I'm lucky enough for that to last. _Reaching a copse of trees and low-lying bushes, John released Aubrey's hand, casting a quick glance around to make sure there was nothing dangerous in the area before he looked down at her.

"That plant there—don't touch it. Now do your business and be quick about it. I'll wait for you over there," he said, pointing towards the point where they'd first entered the treeline.

Leaving her to it, he stepped about five yards or so away from her, none too eager to find himself standing in a puddle of pee or having to deal any further with the bathroom needs of a little girl. He stuck his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels impatiently, his eyes subconsciously beginning to scan their surroundings. After a moment, John realized that it was silent, the sound of urine hitting the ground strangely absent. _Now what? First she says she can't hold it, and now she's not doing a damn thing…don't tell me something else is wrong. _

"Aubrey, I'm not hearing anything—what's the problem?" he called back over his shoulder.

"I can't do it, Daddy—it's too weird!" she yelled back.

"What's weird?"

"We're outside! It's too weird—I can't do it!"

John cast a look heavenward, praying for patience as he fought down the surge of irritation that was threatening to make him lose his temper. _Murphy's Law is kicking my ass, here—whatever can go wrong, does and always will go wrong...just don't yell…don't yell…_

"Aubrey. I don't have a lot of patience, and you're destroying what little I have left of it. You're upset—I get it, I do. But I'm telling you now, drop your britches and do your business before I lose my temper."

"But you're listening!"

"NOW, Aubrey!"

"Okay!"

Satisfied that she was going to listen to him, John sighed, wishing that they weren't still looking at roughly another 18 hours in the car. _Maybe I shouldn't have been so damn eager to drive through without stopping for the night..._

"Whoops," he heard Aubrey whisper suddenly, and John cringed, knowing what was coming.

_Shit._

"You pissed all over your clothes, didn't you?" John asked wearily.

"I didn't mean to," Aubrey told him quietly, on the verge of tears once more, the eight-year-old having long since hit the end of her ability to cope.

"It's alright, baby," John said, feeling completely out of his element as he turned back to face the little girl who was now staring back at him sadly, her face red with embarrassment and distress. "We'll get you something else to wear out of the car, alright?"

She nodded wordlessly, her small hand slipping into his as they walked back to the car. Wordlessly, John reached through the open window and pulled the keys from the ignition, opening up the trunk and digging around until he found her bag. Laying it on top, he dug through its contents, hardly surprised to see how many stuffed animals she'd crammed in among the clothing scattered haphazardly throughout the bag. _Gotta pare this down before this shit completely takes over. Guns over toys, baby girl. _

After he finally laid his hands on a pair of shorts, underwear, socks, and a fresh shirt, he gently steered her around to the side of the car, opening the back passenger door and positioning her in between the door and himself, shielding her from view of the road. She didn't say a word as she changed clothes, the boys respectfully averting their gazes so she could dress, and as John tossed the wet ones into a corner of the trunk and shut the door behind Aubrey, he silently slid back into the car.

Aubrey was holding a pillow to her chest, burying her face in it and refusing to look at anyone, even as Sam nudged her shoulder comfortingly.

"Don't worry about it, Aubrey—it's no big deal," Sam whispered. Pulling back onto the road, John glanced back to see Aubrey curling in to Sam, leaning against his arm with her head on his shoulder, while, Braden slumped against the door asleep, once again having succumbed to the Dramamine's effects.

"Dean," John said softly. He waited for his oldest to look over at him before he continued. "I know it goes against your nature to let anything with the potential for embarrassment to slide, but I don't want you giving Aubrey a hard time about this, understand?"

Dean was silent, glaring out the window before he sighed angrily, resting his forehead against the cool glass of the window.

"Dean?"

"Fine."

"Wrong answer. Try again."

"Yes sir," Dean replied, closing his eyes as he submitted, either too tired or unwilling to argue further.

_Why can't I ever let shit go? Why do I keep pushing him? _

It wasn't long before Aubrey and Dean both joined Braden in slumber, though John could tell Dean's sleep wasn't nearly so restful.

"Hey, Dad?"

"What is it, Sam?"

"Um…I just wanted to tell you…I'm really glad we only have one sister."

"Why is that, Sam?"

"Because I don't think we could handle it, Dad. I mean, dude, she totally flipped out!"

"She's been through a lot, son. She's handlin' it the best she can," John told him, though he secretly agreed with the thirteen-year-old. _Let's just hope she starts to cope better soon. Because my nerves can't take much more._ "I'm sure she'll settle down soon."

"If you say so. But you know what I think?"

"No, what?"

"Chicks are crazy, Dad." John chuckled, amused.

"Don't ever let one hear you say that, especially a grown one," John advised, knowing from experience what a bad idea that was. "I said something along those lines to your mother once, Sam, and I can guarantee you that I sure as hell never did it again."

"Really? What'd she do?" Sam asked eagerly, leaning forward to lean on the back of the front seat.

"Let's just say she tore me a new one and leave it at that," John replied, thinking back on that day with a bittersweet smile. Catching a glimpse of Sam's face, John knew without a doubt that Sam wanted to know more._It hurts to think of her too often, son. I wish I could give you more…_"Your mother was one hell of a woman, Sam," he finally said, knowing it wasn't nearly enough, but it was all he could give. "If you find the right woman, you won't give a damn how crazy she might get sometimes. You'll love her despite it," John told him, feeling the familiar ache in his chest, a gaping hole inside him that was all that was left of his wife.

"I think Mom was a pretty cool chick, Dad."

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh. I mean, she'd have to be, wouldn't she, to put up with you?" Sam said with a mischievous grin. Reaching over, John popped Sam playfully on the side of the head as he chuckled, amused in spite of himself.

The moment passed and Sam started to lean back, but John's quiet murmur stopped him.

"Sam?"

"Sir?"

"You ever find a woman like that, one that loves you in spite of all your shit, you hold tight to her. Don't let go." With a nod, Sam sat back, the look on his face enough to tell John that the boy was pondering his words, committing them to memory.

_If you listen to nothing else I tell you, son, listen to that. Live by it._

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone for reviewing! Keep 'em coming!

**Tanydwr**: Glad you think the fic is cool—thanks for reviewing!

**Bunty**: "Plot who needs plot if you have great characters."—Thanks for saying that! I'm glad I'm not the only one who enjoys character development over action-packed plot lines! Thanks for reviewing!

**Missmadeleine2002**: Yeah, I've always been partial to the stern, yet loving John—seems more realistic that way. I'm really glad you're enjoying the fic, and thanks so much for reviewing!

**cozmikfaerie**: I'm so glad this is coming off as realistic…I don't have any brothers—only an older sister—so I'm kinda just sort of flying by the seat of my pants on the brotherly interactions. Oh well, as long as it works, right? Thanks so much for reviewing! Let me know what you think about this chapter!

**Poppyflake**: I totally see Aubrey as the one to push Dean's buttons, but it's more of a passing thing—they're not going to spend the rest of their lives hating each other and sniping at one another all the time. And I definitely see Dean as the one who keeps track of the day-to-day practicalities, because he's been the one looking after Sam for so long…makes sense that he'd know these things, possibly more than John. Where John is often consumed by his crusade against all things evil, Dean focuses more on their family—safety, day-to-day living, etc. Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing! I'd love to hear what you thought of this chapter!

**Hero Lilly**: Ok, so I totally left you hanging for more than a week—so sorry! I had to fix a scene in here that both of my betas had an issue with—kudos to them for pointing out its flaws. But despite the extra long wait, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks so much for reviewing—it means a lot!

**zuimar**: Ok, so this chapter wasn't quite so big on the angst, but Chapter 11 will, I think, be more than enough to provide your angst-fix. Granted, most of it is Dean-centric angst, rather than John-centric, but I think you'll enjoy it. Despite the lack of heavy angst in this chapter, I hope you still enjoyed it! Thanks for reviewing!

**I'mcalledZorro**: You know, I almost chose a different blessing for the twins in the last chapter, but right before I posted, I didn't think the other blessing sounded quite right…I dunno, there's just something about that "God is great…" blessing that rings true to childhood—I couldn't leave it out! Anyways, thanks for reviewing! I'd love to hear what you thought of this chapter!


	11. Cutting Words

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks mimishell and CagedTroll for all of your help! Hope you all enjoy the chapter—let me know what you think! Oh, and please note the definition below in case you've never heard the phrase—it comes up in this chapter!

face-plant (fās'plänt) _n., v._ **face-planted, face-planting. –**_n_. **1**. a fall in which a person lands face-first. _–v. _**2**. to fall or land face-first into or against a surface.

Chapter 11: Cutting Words

Four states, six pills, and thirteen pit stops later, Dean knew he couldn't hide how bad he was feeling for much longer. While giving his father the cold shoulder had worked for awhile, John Winchester could only be held off for so long, and Dean was pretty sure they'd reached that point. His head ached so bad that he could scarcely hold it up anymore, and he could feel the sticky, cold sweat that had broken out all over his body, collecting at the base of his spine and at his hairline. _I feel like shit._ But as much as he didn't want to focus on how bad he was feeling, at least it was better than focusing on the words that kept replaying in his mind, his father's hurtful words from the night before that kept echoing in his thoughts.

_No, don't think about that,_Dean told himself, wrenching his mind away from those cutting words. _Stay focused—hide the pain. _

As long as he'd been asleep, he'd been okay, able to cover up the pain and the sick feeling that was sweeping through him. But time had taken its toll, no longer allowing Dean the luxury of sleeping through his misery. _At least it's quiet, though—Braden's still sleeping off that Dramamine shit, and Aubrey and Sam have finally shut the hell up and gone to sleep, too._ They'd spent the last two hours chattering, driving Dean silently crazy as he slumped in his seat, John totally oblivious to his oldest son's growing discontent. _Now, if I could just get my brain to forget everything—how bad I feel, how much things suck out loud right now—just for a little while…if I could just make things better…__but what do I say? How do I fix it? I don't know if I can…man, I feel like shit...if I didn't feel so bad, I could fix this, I know it…maybe… _

He wanted nothing more than to open his mouth and tell his dad how bad he felt, but he just couldn't do it, his hurt and confusion too overwhelming to let him speak up. So Dean did what he always did—he suffered in silence. And all the while, his mind whirled, around and around, his father's words playing over and over in his mind like a broken record.

"_What the hell is the matter with you?!" John yelled, as he slammed the bathroom door shut behind Dean and jerked Dean around to face him. "Have you lost your damn mind?!"_

"_I'm sorry," Dean began, but John cut him off._

"_No—you don't speak now! You've done enough of that! This is completely unacceptable! The twins haven't even been with us two days, and you're already giving me shit! I expected better from you! I told you to quit—no, I _ordered_ you to, and you deliberately disobeyed me—you're lucky I don't hand you your ass in a sling for such blatant disregard for my orders!"_

_Unable to look his father in the eye, Dean looked down at his feet, embarrassed and ashamed, but not having a clue how to make things better. _Oh shit, this is bad.

"_No, you look me in the eye when I'm speaking to you!" John continued angrily. "You know what it's like to lose your mom, Dean—how the hell can you talk to your sister like that? Are you _that_ damn pissed at me that you can say something that hateful to her and not give a shit?"_

Fix it, Dean. Fix it now.

"_I didn't mean it," Dean murmured, but his father was not in a forgiving mood, and Dean felt a sudden, strange urge to cry as he stared into his father's angry face, an urge he fought down as he struggled not to give in to the weakness and pain, both emotional and physical, that were beating him down._

"_I don't wanna hear it, Dean! Sam keeps sticking up for you, telling me that you don't feel good, that you're just talkin' shit to me because you're sick. But I'm tired of the excuses, Dean! There's _no_ excuse for the way you spoke to Aubrey, and I'll be damned if I'll let you keep up this sort of childish bullshit!"_

"_I was just angry—I didn't—"_

"_You're pissed at me—I get that, it's fine! You deal with that however you can—I'm a grown man, I can handle it! But I'll be damned if I'll sit here and let you take your issues out on the rest of this family! Now you take care of this shit, because I'm gettin' pretty damn sick of it!"_

"_Dad, please, I just lost my temper, that's all! I didn't mean to—"_

"_No-I told you before, Dean, that I don't want your excuses! __You think I don't know that this is hard for you?! You feel like hell right now—I get that, I do! But if you think that's an excuse for you to cock an attitude with me, you'd best think again! Too much is going on right now for me to have to deal with this sort of shit from you! I get enough of that shit from your brother—I don't need it from you too," he had told Dean angrily, staring over at his son with fire in his eyes. _

"_Dad, I—"_

"_No! Whatever problem you think you have, you get over it, and you get over it fast, because I'm not gonna put up with it! Rest assured, if I have to get involved again, sick or not, your ass _will_ regret it."_

"_I just—"_

"_We're through," John said tightly, his jaw clenched as he visibly pushed away the hot, raging temper in favor of tightly-controlled anger. "This won't happen again. Is that clear?" _

"_I—"_

"_It's a yes or no question," John said coldly, and Dean looked down once more._

"_Yessir."_

"_Good. Now you step up, and start acting your age."_

"Dean, hand me that map out of the dash," John spoke up, interrupting the painful words echoing in Dean's mind. Dean could tell from the distracted tone of his father's voice that John wasn't even glancing his way as he held his hand out for the map, the older man's eyes remaining fixed on the road. "I want to re-check our route before we take the next exit," John was saying, unaware that his lecture from the night before continued to swirl around in Dean's head, a confused jumble of cutting words that was tearing his son up anew every time he recalled them.

Snapping back to the present, Dean barely suppressed a groan at his father's request, as complying meant he'd have to move. Using his elbow, he pushed himself away from the seat, barely catching himself before he face-planted into the dash.

"_You think I don't know that this is hard for you?!" _Squeezing his eyes shut to beat back the pain that was now radiating outward from his side, he panted, bracing himself against the dash as he tried to breathe past the pain.

"Dad, I think I'm gonna hurl," he murmured, desperately trying to swallow back the burning rush of vomit he could feel rising up his throat. _Don't hurl in the car, don't hurl in the car,_ he told himself, barely aware as John pulled the car over.

Groping for the door handle, he managed to shove the door open and lean out just in time to avoid puking all over his beloved car's interior. Feeling like he was throwing up his insides, he fought to catch his breath, wishing it would all stop. He quickly threw up what little food was in his stomach, leaving him with the dry heaves that were so much worse. He could hear his father behind him, murmuring at him, and even though Dean couldn't focus on the words, it didn't matter…he knew what his father was saying. _Ride it out, ride it out. It'll pass. _On a good day, Dean supposed it was meant to be comforting, but at the moment, Dean wasn't feeling the comfort. For the miserable seventeen-year-old, John's little mantra had practically become synonymous with "suck it up and take it like a man." After what felt like forever, the dry heaves subsided, leaving Dean feeling drained and no less shitty than before. He sagged against the doorframe, lacking even the energy to wipe the tears from his eyes that throwing up always seemed to elicit.

"_You feel like hell right now—I get that. But if you think that's an excuse for you to cock an attitude with me, you'd best think again…I get enough of that shit from your brother—I don't need it from you too!" _

Feeling the familiar callused hand of his father come up to rest on his forehead, Dean leaned into it, relieved that, at least for a minute, he didn't have to hold his head up.

"Shit, Dean—you're burning up," John muttered, reaching out with his other hand to gently pull Dean back in the car. "Why the hell didn't you say something sooner?" he asked, pulling the door shut while holding Dean steady.

"_Whatever problem you think you have, you get over it, and you get over it fast, because I'm not gonna put up with it!" _

Through barely open eyes, Dean more sensed than saw his father fumble around in the backseat before grabbing up one of Aubrey's many pillows and sliding it between Dean's head and the door. _Damn, that feels good_, Dean thought with a sigh, distantly wondering just how many she had managed to bring along. _Think she stole some from the motel…they're multiplying…gotta be, 'cause didn't she only have two when we started…or was it three? _

"Dean, you with me, son?"

Blinking away the fogginess, Dean groggily turned his head to stare at his father blearily.

"Dean?"_ "Too much is going on right now for me to have to deal with this sort of childish shit from you!"_

"You think I could take some of that Dramamine shit of Braden's?" Dean asked, ignoring his father's questioning look.

"What? Why?"

"It put him out cold…figured it'd be nice to swallow something strong enough to keep me from hurling…and knock me on my ass at the same time."

"I don't want anything else introduced into your system, Dean—between the antibiotic and the pain meds for your knee, about the only thing I'm willing to give you at this point is a few ibuprofen."

"That shit's not strong enough, Dad," Dean muttered.

"Look, when we get to Jim's, I'll see what I can do, but—"

"Just forget it."

"Dean," John began, but Dean shook his head, unwilling to argue or discuss it further. _"I don't wanna hear it, Dean! Sam keeps sticking up for you, telling me that you don't feel good, that you're just talkin' shit to me because you're sick. But I'm tired of the excuses, Dean! _

"Let's just go."

"Can you hold out until we reach Jim's place, or do I need to find us a place to hole up for awhile?" _How about you shoot me and put me out of my misery—is that an option? _ Dean thought irrationally.

"I'm not some pansy-ass girl—I'll be fine," he said instead. "Just keep goin'," he mumbled, preferring to be sick and miserable at Jim's to being sick and miserable in some shitty motel room in the middle of nowhere.

"You sure?"

_Since when do you care? You all but freakin' told me that you didn't,_ Dean thought, his father's words once again rushing back.

"_You're pissed at me—I get that, it's fine. You deal with that however you can—I'm a grown man, I can handle it. But I'll be damned if I'll sit here and let you take your issues out on the rest of this family. Now you take care of this shit, because I'm gettin' pretty damn sick of it!"_

"Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore the pain and the headache and the hot, achy feeling that he was feeling despite the shivers that were starting to wrack his frame, but it was all becoming too much for him. He shifted, trying to get more comfortable, only to stifle a gasp as the seatbelt pressed against the hot, painful wound in his side. Annoyed and completely out of patience, Dean reached down and unbuckled his seatbelt, slinging it away from him angrily.

"What are you doing?"

"Hurts."

"Dean, I'm thinkin' maybe we should go ahead and stop somewhere for the night."

_Well if you were just gonna go ahead and do what you wanted, then why the hell did you ask me what I thought in the first place? _Dean thought angrily.

"Whatever, Dad," he replied, lacking the energy to argue. As though sensing Dean's true feelings on the matter, John sighed.

"Alright, look, if you're sure you can hold out for a bit longer, I guess we'll keep going. We're almost there, and if I can avoid forking out some cash for a motel room, I'll do it. Just try and get some sleep if you can."

With a grunt, Dean turned his face into the pillow John had stolen from Aubrey's stash, burying his face in it as he closed his eyes and tried to wipe his mind of all thought. _Maybe it wasn't so bad when Sammy and Aubrey were yappin' in the backseat. At least then there was something else to focus on besides how shitty I feel or Dad's lecture from hell play over and over again in my head. Don't think about it—just breathe_, he told himself. _You're being a total bitch about this. Quit whining and suck it up._ Shoving all thought aside by sheer force of will, he closed his eyes tighter and began to count. _One, two, three…_

He was asleep before he reached 100.

* * *

"Dean."

Opening his eyes, Dean gazed around in confusion, trying to figure out where the hell he was. His head felt like it was filled with sand, the thoughts slipping away before he could firmly grasp them. Blinking in an attempt to clear his mind, he frowned at his father, who was staring at him with worried eyes. _Not moving anymore…car stopped…red light? Pit stop? Not worth moving…_

"C'mon, Dean."

"Don't hafta go," Dean mumbled, not fighting the urge to slip back into sleep.

"What?"

"Don't hafta piss. 'M good," he murmured, pressing his face deeper into the pillows.

"No, son—we're not taking a pit-stop. We're at Jim's."

Growling at the annoyance of having to move, Dean shoved the pillow away and clumsily reached for the door handle, unable to stop a hiss of pain from escaping.

"Just wait here, Dean. I'll come back for you."

_Sure, whatever_, Dean thought, settling back in the seat, his hands limp at his sides. His eyes closed of their own accord as he listened to the familiar sound of the Impala's doors opening.

"Sam, wake up," he heard John say quietly.

"Ah, Dad, why'd ya' have to wake me up?" Sam grumbled. "I was havin' this really neat dream where…"

"Sam, it's 3 in the morning, son. It'll keep. Now make yourself useful—grab a bag or grab a twin, your pick."

"Um…I'll take a bag, I guess…"

Dean watched through veiled eyes as John lifted Aubrey out of the car and onto his shoulder before walking around to pick Braden up as well. _Shouldn't do that, Dad—not leavin' your gun-hand free…stupid. _Hearing the sound of a screen door slam, Dean turned his heavy head to see Pastor Jim walking toward the car, looking none the worse for wear despite the early hour.

"John, it's good to see you. I was beginning to worry," Jim said with a kind smile, his voice sounding muffled to Dean as he listened through the closed door on his side.

"Jim. Thanks for having us," John replied, and Dean would have rolled his eyes at the pleasantness of it, if he'd had the energy. _Don't hurry on my account, Dad._..

"Are you picking up strays now, Winchester? That's hardly like you," Jim said softly. _Yeah, no kidding, Pastor Jim…too bad Dad didn't stay true to form when the twins came along with their stupid-ass rodent…_

"Uh, yeah, about that," John was saying, "it's a long story, but they're mine, and well…they're with us now. I know I should have said something about it sooner, but…look, if you can't put us all up, I can find a motel."

"Don't be absurd, John—it's perfectly alright. We'll make do."

"You don't know how damn glad I am to hear that, Jim—I've got one kid drugged into unconsciousness, another running a fever, attitude comin' out the wazoo, and urine-stained clothes stinking up my trunk…"

"I won't ask about the clothing. Which one is running a fever?"

_That would be me, Pastor Jim_, Dean thought dryly, closing his eyes wearily. _I'd raise my hand, but it doesn't seem to want to move right now…_

"Dean."

"It's not the flu, is it? Quite a bit of that going around lately."

"No—infection. Run-in with a poltergeist a couple of weeks ago turned ugly. Kid's been through the wringer."

_What a freakin' understatement, Dad_, Dean thought testily, listening with growing irritation as his father conversed with the older man

"The wound in his side is lookin' pretty nasty," John continued, "and we've been pushing the antibiotics, but it's not doing much for him."

"Have you taken the boy to a doctor, John?"

"I'd rather avoid that route, if possible—leaves a trail, and people start asking questions. Look, I'm sure once I get him inside and get a good look at the wound that I can take care of it."

"Alright, John. Well, why don't you let me take the little ones and you get Dean into the house?"

"Yeah, alright."

A few seconds later, Dean heard his door being pulled open and felt his father's hand gently wrap around his bicep.

"C'mon, kiddo, let's get you to bed, huh?" _Sounds good, Dad…in a minute…_

John shifted his grip on Dean's arm to get a firmer hold before he began to ease Dean towards the edge of the seat. Dean's eyes flew open, and he couldn't hold back a gasp of pain as he was jostled.

"Easy, son, easy—I've got you. Let me do the work, alright?"

_Wish I could just pass out already, 'cause damn, this hurts…can't decide which hurts worse, my knee or my side, 'cause right now, they both hurt like a bitch. Dude, it's like synchronized swimming, 'cept it's more like synchronized pain…all together now._

Sweat beaded on his brow, and he bit down on his lower lip as his father slowly maneuvered him out of the car and into a standing position.

"Don't feel so good," he mumbled, disoriented as the world seemed to start spinning around him._ Oh, shit..._His stomach clenched, the only warning he had before he started to throw-up once more. Tears leaked from his eyes as his stomach tried its best to eject its meager contents. Unfortunately, there was little left after his last bout of vomiting, so he ended up dry-heaving once again instead. _This sucks worse than throwin' up…this just hurts…_

"Hang in there, kiddo—it'll pass," he heard John murmur, and even though Dean was still angry as hell at his father, he was glad the man was there. As the oldest Winchester held his son up from behind, bracing him even as he practically held Dean up, Dean was willing to let go of his anger, at least for the moment. When his stomach finally returned to a semblance of calm, Dean spit weakly onto the ground before sagging against his father. Shifting his grip again, John tugged Dean's right arm over his shoulder, wrapping his own arm low around Dean's waist, avoiding the painful injury to Dean's side.

"Sam, grab the sleeping bags for the twins—make a pallet out of the bags instead of zipping 'em up separately," John called back over his shoulder as the younger of the Winchester teenagers came walking back from the house.

"'kay," Sam said with a loud yawn, before grabbing the two brightly-colored sleeping bags from the trunk and following after Jim. _Hey, wow, Sammy didn't argue that time…wonder what the hell is wrong with him…_

John began to move then, and a harsh sob escaped Dean as he struggled to stay on his feet and keep his eyes open.

"C'mon, Dean, you just gotta make it a couple hundred yards. If I have to carry you in a fireman's hold, you're gonna hurt a hell of a lot more, son," John said apologetically, pausing for a moment to allow Dean to gather his strength. _Why does he always have to be right?_ Dean sucked in a breath, exhaling harshly as he began to force his tired, aching body forward.

"One step at a time, son. Take it easy, you're doin' good."

Time lost all meaning as Dean let his father lead him towards the door of Jim's house, his fingers clutching weakly at John's shirt. _One step. Two steps. Three…_He lost count, his mind too tired and his body too raw with pain to stay focused.

"Tired, Dad," he mumbled, his eyes dropping even as his feet kept moving painstakingly forward.

"I know, son, but trust me, it's not much farther."

_But can I trust you?_

Suddenly, Dean felt someone ease under his left arm, abruptly taking the brunt of the weight off of Dean. Startled, he jerked, fighting to open his eyes as his body tensed, preparing to fight off an attack.

"Easy, boy," Jim said softly, and Dean relaxed, letting himself go completely limp at the sound of the older man's voice, trusting implicitly that the pastor wouldn't let him fall.

"John, this isn't just a mild fever—the boy's burning up. You can practically feel the heat radiating off of him. You should have stopped hours ago and taken him to a doctor, regardless of the consequences," Jim scolded. _Nice to know I'm not the only one who royally gets his ass chewed out …yeah, it's your turn, now, Dad…nobody can lay a guilt-trip on you like Pastor Jim…must be because he's a pastor…church folks are good at that…_Dean was vaguely aware of the fact that his thought process was beginning to detour him all over the place, but he couldn't bring himself to care…_I'll just go with the flow…yeah…_The ebb and flow of conversation moved around him, but he couldn't seem to track all of it, only able to tune into bits and pieces of it, but not really minding, as the words hardly seemed to make sense anyway…

"Dammit, Jim—why are you rakin' me over the coals about this? Dean didn't want to stop—I trusted that he was telling me the truth when he said he could hold out until we got here!" _Yeah, I guess I can lie with the best of 'em…guess it's my own damn fault, Pastor Jim…shoulda told Dad the truth…screwed up again…_

"The boy is seventeen, John! Of course he's going to tell you that he's fine. They all think they're invincible at that age, and you should know that well enough. Besides that, he's _your_ son—he'd just as likely insist that he was fine even if he was bleeding out from a gunshot wound to the chest! If nothing else, a Winchester can always be counted on to be foolishly mule-headed. You're his father—you should have forced the issue and taken him to a doctor."

"Things are pretty rocky between him and me right now," John admitted, and as sick as he was, Dean couldn't deny how reluctant his father was to acknowledge a problem to someone outside the family, even if it was Pastor Jim. "He's…he's pissed off at me, hurt…I didn't want to make an issue of it with him, not with things as they are right now," John told Jim softly, and Dean fought the overwhelming sense of guilt and hurt swirling inside of him. _Everything's all messed up—nothing's right any more…nothing makes sense anymore…why can't things just be like they were before?_

As the two men gently maneuvered him inside the house and deposited him on the edge of Pastor Jim's guest bed, Dean realized with a brief moment of clarity that he didn't even have the energy to hold himself up. He began to list to the side, only staying upright because Jim caught him before he sank to the mattress. With Pastor Jim maintaining a firm grip on him, Dean remained upright as John knelt down to remove Dean's boots. _Good, I didn't wanna sleep in those_, he thought offhandedly. It was the last thought he had before he finally succumbed to the pain and exhaustion that had been eating away at him for days. Because at least in sleep, for a little while, everything was okay.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has sent a review—they mean so much to me! Thanks for taking the time to drop me a line! You guys are great!

**Poppyflake**: As far as Aubrey's uncompromising behavior, there's a reason for it…I realized last night while talking to one of my betas that I've never actually put it into words, though…it's like, I knew the reasoning behind her behavior in my mind, but I'd never really verbalized (or written) it…so stay tuned for more specific insight into her reasoning. And the EMF meter's reaction to Braden is definitely important…Anyways, as always, thanks for faithfully reviewing every chapter!

**dilly**: Hope this chapter fulfilled your Dean-angst quota. I'm so glad to hear that I've won you over! Thanks so much for reviewing—reviews make fanfic writing worthwhile! Looking forward to hearing what you thought about this chapter!

**lilgurlgreen**: I think Dean's mood is shifting from bad to worse here…I find myself identifying with him quite a bit, too! Thanks for reviewing—I love hearing from readers!

**Hero Lily**: Considering I'm one of two girls in my immediate family, the Chapter 10 scene you referred to in your review has never actually come up…although I'll admit to an outdoor incident in which I failed miserably at my first attempt to use the woods…in fact, I was probably about Aubrey's age when that happened. I guess it's true that we write what we know…of course, without brothers, I have to improvise on some of this. But I'm glad to hear that I'm doing alright! Thanks so much for reviewing!!

**SamU1**: Glad to hear you think I'm doing a good job—thanks for the compliment! Lots of family drama to come, so stay tuned! Thanks for sending me a review—I always like hearing from readers—it makes writing this worthwhile!

**zuimar**: It was so good to hear from you! I hope this chapter lived up to expectations! Braden definitely has a role to play in upcoming chapters, although I'm not sure if it'll be overly apparent until later. So what do you think—did I keep the Hurt-Dean fans satisfied with this one? Granted, it was more angst than actual hurt, but I think it came out alright…anyways, thanks for reviewing for me! I appreciate it!


	12. Uncomfortable Insights

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, everyone! Many thanks to my betas, CagedTroll and mimishell, of course! Ok, so this chapter involves a great deal of sibling Kodak moments, just so you know. But I like to think it's entertaining at least, so that makes it okay, right? Right?

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 12—Uncomfortable Insights

Sam watched from the guest-room doorway as Dean lost the battle to stay awake, slumping onto his side as their dad stripped the unconscious seventeen-year-old down to his boxers. With gentle hands, Jim eased the bandaging away from the wound on Dean's side, the older man wincing at the sight of the oozing, pus-filled gashes.

"This is bad, John," Jim muttered, looking up at John with concerned eyes. _Shit, Dad, do something_, Sam thought, truly worried at this point.

"It looks worse than before. I've been givin' him an antibiotic, but it doesn't seem to be having an effect."

_You think? Just do something, Dad, something that works!_

"What antibiotic is it?" Jim was asking.

"Uh, some penicillin left over from I forget what."

"Outdated penicillin is no match for this type of infection, John," Jim told him with a slight bite in his voice.

"Dad?" Sam asked hesitantly, biting his lip as he lingered uncertainly in the doorway, afraid to step closer. "Is Dean gonna be okay?"

"He'll be fine, Sam. Go to bed."

"But—"

"Now, Samuel."

"I just wanna make sure he's okay," Sam argued, taking his eyes off his brother long enough to stare at his father brashly.

"Yeah, and I told you he'll be fine. Now, don't make me repeat myself—go to bed," John said menacingly, the slight narrowing of his eyes and the hardening of his jaw enough to tell Sam that further argument would be pushing it.

"Fine," Sam bit out, backing out of the room and slamming the door behind him, staring back at the now-closed door hotly. _He's such an asshole…and I'm an idiot…what was I thinking, slamming the door like that? How the hell am I gonna eavesdrop _now_? Shit._ With a sigh, Sam put his back to the wall beside the door, sliding to the floor and toeing off his sneakers. Making himself as comfortable as he could, he let his head drop back, steadying his breathing so that he made as little noise as possible. _I can't just go to bed, not until I know how Dean's really doing…If I don't listen at the door, I'll never find out anything, 'cause Dad sure as hell doesn't tell me jack-shit, _he told himself, finding as usual, that it was incredibly easy to justify his actions.

"Grab that thermometer on the dresser there, John," Sam could hear Pastor Jim say.

"Already got it ready for us, huh?"

"John, I always put the first aid kit out the moment I hear you're coming, because if you remain true to form—and I get the feeling you always will—someone will no doubt be hurt when you and yours come through the door," Jim said dryly.

"Huh…probably not a bad idea."

_No shit, Dad—maybe that should tell you something._

Pastor Jim had the newer type of thermometer, the sort that went in your ear instead of your mouth, so within a few seconds, Sam could hear the tell-tale beep followed by a heartfelt curse form his father.

"Dammit to hell! It's too high, Jim—it's already almost 104."

"Don't curse, John," Jim chided softly. "Now tell me, when's the last time the boy had something to drink?" Jim asked, and though he spoke calmly, Sam could tell from his tone that the older man was worried. John was quiet for a long moment, and Sam could almost picture his father mentally rewinding the course of their trip, calculating the number of times they'd stopped for food, the number of times Dean had refused anything to eat or drink. And as Sam thought about it, he realized with a sinking feeling just how little his older brother had had to drink. _How did we miss that? I mean, it should have been so obvious that Dean wasn't eating or drinking anything, 'cause how often does _Dean_ refuse food or drink? I mean, that happens about as often as a blue moon…Dammit._

"He hasn't had more than a few sips of pop since…damn, probably about nine hours ago."

"Any vomiting before the incident in my driveway?"

"Yeah."

"Then he's likely dehydrated as well at this point. Take him to the hospital, John."

"You don't think we can handle it here?"

"Let's just say that if he were my son, I wouldn't risk letting this infection go any further."

"Alright, Jim, good enough for me," John murmured, and that was when Sam felt all of the smart-ass remarks fall away as true worry settled in.

"I probably won't make it back before morning, and kids are exhausted. You okay with me leaving Sam and the twins here with you?"

_What the hell? You can't leave me here while you take Dean to the hospital—no way in hell you're leavin' me behind! _

"Of course I don't mind," Jim was saying just as Sam threw the door open, bursting back into the room with a vengeance.

"I'm goin' with you," Sam announced, his voice daring his father to argue. And just like always, John Winchester didn't disappoint him.

"The hell you are—you're staying here with the twins, and you'd best not give Jim any trouble. Now go on back to bed."

"I never went in the first place," Sam said mutinously. "I wanna go with Dean."

"Yeah, well, tough. I didn't ask you what you wanted."

"But, Dad, that's not fair! Why do I have to stay? It's just two little kids—Pastor Jim can handle it!"

"Look, Sam, I need you here, so that the twins aren't alone—at least one of us needs to be here when they wake up, because as clingy as Aubrey's been, I expect she's not going to react well to me being gone in the morning. It might get ugly, and I'm not gonna leave Jim to handle that by himself—this isn't his problem, and he shouldn't have to deal with it. This is a family issue—we'll take care of it ourselves."

"Dad, c'mon, you know Dean would want me there!" Sam said, wincing inside as he heard how close he was to actually whining.

"You're not going, Samuel, and that's all I'm gonna say about it," John said, his voice making it pretty damn clear that his patience was shot. "Now, if you don't get your ass to bed, I'm gonna lose my temper, and then I'll really give you something to complain about."

Sam's face fell, and he looked over at Pastor Jim, his eyes pleading with the older man to help him out, but Jim cast a sympathetic look at Sam before shaking his head apologetically.

"You always do this! You always leave me behind!" Sam threw back at his father, as hot tears filled his eyes. Choking back an angry sob, he swiped them away with the back of his hand as he stormed out of the room, kicking his father's duffel as he passed. Returning to the living room, he stepped over the twins' sleeping forms nestled together on a pallet made of their sleeping bags, not even bothering to change out of his clothes before throwing himself onto the couch. He flung his arm over his eyes as he fought back the tears still threatening to flow, crushed and absolutely miserable.

He couldn't even say for sure why exactly he was so upset. Sure, he wanted to go with his brother, but it was more than that. _I bet he'd still leave me behind, even if the twins weren't here. He always leaves me behind._ It was an issue that had been festering since before Dean had gotten hurt, and Sam found that he couldn't push it back any longer. Rolling over, he buried his face in his pillow, unable to hold back the sobs wracking his slender frame. _It's the same damn thing he always does! I'm always left behind, never knowin' what the hell is happenin' while they're out there…it's not fair! _The rational part of Sam's mind told him that he was just upset because he was tired, but the other part of his mind, the sensitive part, was winning out, all of the hurt and the anger pouring out of him in waves.

He suddenly felt the edge of the couch dip, but he didn't lift his head, ashamed and embarrassed that Pastor Jim was seeing him cry like a girl.

"Sam."

_Oh, shit, it's not Pastor Jim._ He felt his neck flush as he realized it was his father sitting next to him. He stilled, waiting for it. _Great way to end an already perfect night—the 'suck it up and take it like a man' lecture. Either that or the "quit embarrassing yourself" speech._ Sam sniffled, forcing back the shuddering sob that was threatening to escape.

"Sam, I'm tired," John said quietly, and shocked, Sam rolled over to see his father sitting with his arms on his knees, a weary expression on his face as he glanced over at Sam, who stared back at his father with open confusion. "In case you haven't noticed, son," John said with a sigh, "we're struggling. All of us…Look, I know you wanna come with me and your brother, but…Sam, I need you here, where you can hold the fort until I get back. 'Cause, son, I'm not really sure we can all make it through another crisis intact. So, I need to know—can you handle this?"

Sam bit his lip, sensing somehow that his father's question was more important than it sounded on the surface.

"Okay, Dad," he whispered. John smiled, laying a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezing gently.

"I knew I could count on you. Look after your brother and sister, alright?"

"Yessir."

"John," Jim called softly from the other room.

"I've gotta get Dean dressed and loaded into the car. Get some sleep. I'll call when I have news."

Sam watched him slowly climb to his feet, feeling a sense of guilt as he stared after his father. He'd seen his father tired and exhausted before. In fact, it was pretty much typical after a hunt for his father to crash for ten hours of much-needed sleep. But, he'd never seen the man with such bone-deep weariness assailing him before. _Man, if Dad's tired, then things really are bad…_

Rolling over, Sam listened as John asked Jim to grab a pair of sweats and a t-shirt out of Dean's bag. After some creative swearing on John's part, the two apparently managed to maneuver Dean's barely conscious form into the clothing before hauling him up. Sam tried to fight the pull of sleep, but as he listened to the steady murmur of encouragement punctuated by soft groans from Dean, his eyes slid shut of their own accord, and he was asleep before they got Dean out the door.

* * *

"Sam!"

The urgent whispering of his name pulled Sam reluctantly out of a deep sleep and with a groan, he rolled over to see both of the twins staring at him worriedly.

"Sam, Daddy and Dean are missing, and we're lost—we don't know where we are," Braden whispered, his eyes wide as he gazed around in alarm.

"We were in the car, but now we're not, and I think the thing that took Mama came back and got us, and now we'll never see Daddy or Dean again!" Aubrey said tearfully, her body shuddering as she sobbed.

"Nah, it's not like that," Sam said with a loud yawn. "We're at Pastor Jim's house—he's a friend of Dad's."

"Well then, where's Daddy and Dean?" Braden asked, his eyes narrow with suspicion. _Dude, paranoid much?_

"Dad had to take Dean to the hospital last night—he's really sick," Sam murmured, sitting up and rubbing his face tiredly before shoving his hair out of his eyes. "Guess they're not back yet…you guys heard anything?"

"We heard something movin' in there," Aubrey whispered, pointing towards the kitchen, "but we were scared, so we hid. We don't want it to get us," she said. Sam chose not to point out that had anything evil really been in the house, Aubrey's sobbing moments before would have no doubt led the fugly straight to them. Instead, he shoved away the blanket that was bunched around his waist—courtesy of Pastor Jim, he was certain—and climbed to his feet.

"It's just Pastor Jim in there, Aubrey."

"I want Daddy to come back," she said, not acknowledging his words at all as she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing. _Does this mean she's gonna be a pain all day? Man, I hope not…that'll sure as hell make a long-ass day even longer. _

"Damn, Aubrey, let go. Look, it's fine, I promise. Pastor Jim's not gonna hurt you—he's real nice, and if we play it right, he'll probably fix us breakfast. C'mon, I'll show you."

With Aubrey clinging to him, and Braden dogging his heels, Sam led the way to the kitchen, his sock-covered feet whisking silently across the hardwood floors. _Please, God, let Pastor Jim work his preacher-man-mojo on them so they like him, 'cause otherwise, she's gonna be hangin' on to me all day._

"Are you sure it's this 'Jim' guy in there?" Braden asked, staring up at Sam with calculating eyes. "'Cause me an' Aubby ain't so sure."

"Would you two just trust me, already? Nothing evil gets in Pastor Jim's house. The only guy who has more wards and protection at his house is Uncle Bobby," Sam said confidently. _And that's 'cause he's slightly nuts. _

"We got a uncle?" Aubrey asked excitedly, stopping suddenly to stare up at him, pulling Sam to an abrupt halt when she didn't let go of him. "Why didn't you tell us that sooner? That's important. Why didn't we go to our uncle's house instead of this guy's house?"

"Well, he's not really our uncle, Aub. Sorry. But he's like one." _And he and Dad sure fight like they're related. _"Now, c'mon." With that, Sam shoved open the door to the kitchen, dragging the twins in behind him. Inside, Pastor Jim was standing at the stove, his back to the door as he simultaneously fried bacon and scrambled eggs.

"Have you heard from Dad yet, Pastor Jim?" Sam asked immediately, pulling the twins along as he hurried forward. Startled, Pastor Jim started, whipping his head around to aim a stern look at Sam before turning back to the food.

"Good morning, Pastor Jim," Jim said pointedly, and Sam sighed, rolling his eyes as the twins looked on in confusion.

"Good morning, Pastor Jim," Sam repeated, obediently albeit grudgingly. _C'mon, Pastor Jim—this sucks out loud. Just tell me if Dad called already!_

"Good morning, Samuel," Jim responded with an approving nod, a smile in his voice. _Give it a minute…can't rush it too much…okay, three seconds is good._

"So did you hear from Dad?"

"Honestly, Samuel, where are your manners? Your father has his faults, but I know he at least taught you rudimentary social skills."

"What? I said, 'Good morning,'" Sam protested._ Dude, I just wanna know how Dean is!_

"That you did. But you failed to introduce me to two certain someones who happen to be standing behind you."

_Dammit._

"C'mon, Pastor Jim, give a guy a break!"

"I'm waiting, Samuel."

"Fine," he grumbled, heaving a sigh of annoyance before complying. "Pastor Jim, these are the twins," Sam began dutifully. "This is Aubrey, and this is Braden."

"And…"

"Uhh…Oh yeah, Aubrey, Braden, this is Pastor Jim. He's Dad's friend. He lets us stay here sometimes, and he takes care of us when Dad has to leave."

"How do we know he's _really_ a pastor?" Aubrey asked, picking up where Braden had left off with the suspicion.

"'Cause he's wearin' one of those things in his collar like important church-people do," Sam replied with a tired sigh, more than a little exasperation in his voice. _Damn, they're as paranoid as Dad is…they sure fit right in to the family, don't they?_

"It's very nice to meet you both," Jim said with a smile.

"When's our daddy comin' back?" Aubrey asked him, her chin wobbling despite her attempt to stare up at Jim confidently.

"It's hard to say for certain, I'm afraid. I haven't heard from him yet. But he said he would call, so we just have to wait until then."

"He hasn't called yet? But it's been hours!" Sam exclaimed. _What the hell? He should have called by now!_

"These things take time, Samuel." But staring up at Pastor Jim, Sam wasn't comforted by the older man's calm, assuring tone.

"Is Dean gonna die?" Aubrey asked fearfully. "He's been real mean, but we don't want him to die, 'cause he's our brother!" she told Jim earnestly.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Jim told her with a gentle smile.

"I want Daddy to come back _now_," Aubrey said with a sniffle. Sam turned pleading eyes on Jim, silently begging the older man to do something.

"Now, no time for that, Aubrey—breakfast is ready. If the three of you would kindly take your seats, breakfast will be served."

"You cooked it—all of it?" Aubrey asked excitedly, her worries forgotten as she ran to a chair. _Yep, Pastor Jim, you figured it out a long time ago, didn't you? The way to a Winchester's heart is through his stomach. Or hers, in this case._

"I certainly did."

"Wow, we haven't had cooked-in-the-kitchen food since Daddy came and got us! He buys us food from Burger King and Denny's and the gas stations, and Wendy's, and lots of places. 'Cept McDonalds. He don't take us to McDonalds."

_Please don't tell them why, Pastor Jim,_ Sam thought, his eyes widening with alarm, well aware that the older man knew the particulars of Sam's aversion to McDonalds.

"Yes, well, your father has a certain penchant for fast-food," was all Pastor Jim said, leaving Sam to breathe a sigh of relief.

"It's your turn to say the blessin', Bray!" Aubrey announced, but after casting a quick look at Pastor Jim, Braden shook his head silently. With a sigh that would make a martyr proud, Aubrey grudgingly obliged, bowing her head and saying the blessing as fast as she could before jabbing at her eggs hungrily.

"Daddy goes to a lot of places with drive-thrus," Aubrey said lightly, easily picking up where the conversation had left off. "But it's okay, though. I think Daddy'll cook for us when we get to his house," Aubrey said, taking a large bite.

"Don't bet on it," Sam mumbled, annoyed enough with his father that the irritable remark just sort of slipped out.

"Whatcha mean?" Aubrey asked him, staring over at him with a perplexed expression.

"Well, for one thing, Dad couldn't cook if his life depended on it. The man can't even use the toaster without something getting charred beyond recognition. If it wasn't for fast-food, Dean and I probably would have starved before I made it to age three. And secondly, we don't exactly have a house right now. The closest thing we've got is the Impala."

"We don't have a house?" Aubrey asked with dismay. "We're homeless?"

"Samuel, that's enough of that," Jim said quietly, and Sam fell silent, poking at his breakfast with growing disinterest. _It's weird how that works...Dad yells, and it doesn't do a damn thing, but Pastor Jim just talks all quiet like, and I can't _not_ do what he asks._

"Aubrey," Jim continued, "a home is more than bricks and mortar."

"What's mortar?" Braden whispered softly to Sam, but Sam didn't answer, his eyes focused on Jim as he went on.

"I don't get it," Aubrey said skeptically, shrugging one shoulder apologetically.

"Put another way, Aubrey, a home isn't a building. It's a family. Whether a house, a motel room, or a car, where you live doesn't really matter. A true home is comprised of the family members who live in it."

"But, Pastor Jim…our family keeps gettin' smaller. Everybody keeps disappearin'," she murmured sadly.

"But your father and Dean haven't disappeared—they're only gone for a bit, and they'll be back."

"I don't like it when Daddy's gone…I'm scared he won't come back."

_She better get over that pretty damn fast—Dad's gone all the time,_ Sam thought as he shoved the food around on his plate. But he kept his mouth shut.

"I've known your father for a very long time, and I can tell you for certain that he'll be back as soon as he can. But Dean needs your father more than you do right now."

"'Cause he don't feel good?"

"That's right. There are four of you children, and only one of your father—it's only fair to share." _Yeah, 'cause it's not like Dad has a whole lot of time for us anyway. Gotta catch him when you can._ Sam started to open his mouth, but Pastor Jim cast a warning look at him, and Sam just as quickly slumped in his seat, knowing better than to ignore it.

"Okay," Aubrey said reluctantly.

"Good. Now eat up—wouldn't want all of my hard work to go to waste."

From the corner of his eye, Sam watched Aubrey resume eating, and within a few moments, she seemed to forget all about the matter as she warmed up to Pastor Jim, beginning to chatter happily to the older man. Braden, he noticed, hadn't spoken since they'd come into the kitchen, but as Aubrey didn't seem too concerned, Sam supposed it wasn't unusual. _'Course, Aubrey probably talks enough for the both of them, so I guess it doesn't make much difference if he talks or not._ Aubrey settled in comfortably, and the remainder of breakfast was liberally smattered with her on-going talk and Pastor Jim's mild responses.

But Sam was only vaguely aware of this, as worry for his brother began to once again preoccupy his mind. _Dad should have called by now…he made it seem like it was nothing they couldn't handle, but it's been hours now. Why hasn't he called yet? What if it's worse than Dad said? Would he lie about somethin' like that? _The answer, Sam suspected, was a big, fat "yes," and he pushed his plate away with a look of disgust, his stomach churning nervously at the thought.

"Samuel?"

Sam jerked, almost knocking over his orange juice as he was torn abruptly from his thoughts.

"Sorry," he said, wrapping a firm hand around the juice and looking up, surprised to see that it was just he and Jim at the table. "Where'd the twins go?"

"I told them where the bathrooms were and sent them on their merry way to get showered and dressed. I thought it would give us some time without them underfoot," Jim told him with a kind smile.

"Time for what?" Sam asked cautiously, not certain he wanted to know.

"Time for you to tell me why all isn't quiet on the Winchester front."

"Huh?"

"What's bothering you, Samuel?"

"Oh, well…I'm worried about Dean…" he began hesitantly. _I forget how different Pastor Jim is from Dad—he actually wants to talk about what's bothering us…it's strange to talk about it with a willing audience instead of scream it at an unwilling one. _He paused, trying to organize his thoughts, not really certain where to begin.

"Dad always keeps me in the dark about everything!" he blurted out suddenly, surprising himself as the words exploded from his mouth. "I just wanted to go with Dad and Dean, you know? He always makes me stay behind! You know, that's why Dean got hurt so bad in the first place—if Dad had let me go with them on that hunt, I bet that poltergeist never would have gotten the drop on Dean, and he wouldn't be at the hospital now!"

"Or it could be you in the hospital now," Jim said softly. "You're brilliant, Samuel, and well-trained—you're definitely your father's son. But you're still only thirteen years old. He's only trying to keep you safe. Perhaps he doesn't always explain his actions, but your father does what he thinks is best for his children."

"No, he doesn't," Sam snorted in a mixture of anger and disbelief. "He does what he wants—it doesn't matter what we want!"

"I know he isn't an easy man to understand sometimes, but he has his reasons."

"If he's got reasons, why do they have to be some big, huge secret, huh? Why can't he just tell us?"

"Samuel, though he would never admit it, your father lives in a perpetual state of fear."

"That doesn't make any sense. Dad faces down everything from poltergeists and werewolves to wendigos and demons. What could he possibly be afraid of?"

"Of losing what's left of his family," Jim said softly. "It's a fear that has been with him for so long it's a part of him now, and I think it's a large motivator for his actions. But for your father to explain himself would, I believe, leave him entirely too open to self-examination."

"Huh?" Sam asked, cocking his head and staring at Jim with a puzzled expression.

"In other words, if he were to explain himself, he would have to acknowledge his fear of losing one of his children," Jim clarified. "He can't, or won't, allow himself to do that. I've seen that fear in him since the moment I met him, and I see that same fear in your brother as well—it's what drives the both of them. And not a day goes by that I don't worry."

"Yeah?" _Don't know if I'm really buyin' this, but it makes for an interesting theory, I guess. Can't hurt to learn more, right? _ "How come?" Sam asked.

"Because, Samuel," Jim said softly, leaning forward to stare down at him gravely, "that fear is so deeply instilled in them that I worry about just how far they would go to keep that fear at bay."

Sam fell quiet then, biting his lip as he seriously considered Pastor Jim's words. _Is that true? Would Dad really do something stupid, just 'cause he's afraid? I don't know what to think…I mean, Dad's never scared…how can Pastor Jim be right about this? I mean, that's crazy, right? Dad's always right there, taking some evil sonofabitch down, and he never seems afraid of _anything_, so how can he be scared all the time? Still…Pastor Jim's usually right about these things—it's probably that whole 'being a man-of-God' thing…But how can I know for sure that he's right? I can't exactly go up and ask Dad if he's living 'in a perpetual state of fear'…yeah, that'd go over real well. _

Sam shook his head and heaved a sigh, knowing that pondering the mystery that was John Winchester any longer would only be a waste of time. _I want to understand Dad, but there's no way in hell he'd talk to me about that shit. I mean, I can't even get a decent answer about where we're gonna eat on a given day, so the odds of gettin' an answer about something _real_ are practically zip. I'd just be wastin' my breath. _Pastor Jim, being the insightful man that he was, obviously picked up on this and with a gentle smile, he let the issue go and settled back in his chair.

"Well, Samuel, they say patience is a virtue, but I believe I've been patient long enough. So suppose you tell me how there suddenly came to be two new additions to the Winchester clan."

"Oh, that…" Sam said, relieved that the older man was changing the subject to something a little less uncomfortable, warmed up to the topic as he thought of where to begin. "Well, I guess, for us at least, it all started when Dad got a phone call…"

And that easily, Sam found himself telling Pastor Jim everything, the words rushing out of him like water bursting from a dam. "…And Dean's been really mad lately…things have been pretty tense," Sam finished glumly. _And that quickly, we're back to depressing shit, like how I'm torn between my brother and the twins. Dammit. _

"He'd like the twins if he just gave them a chance, I know it!" Sam told him ardently. "Braden's pretty quiet, so he's not so bad, and he's actually pretty cool. He knows some really weird shit—you know, way more than a kid should. Dad seems kinda freaked out about it, but I think it's pretty cool actually." Not giving Pastor Jim a chance to respond, he continued, feeling a bit like Aubrey as he shifted rapidly from one topic to another without pause. _Maybe I should ask him something, so he has a turn to talk… _"Oh, and did you know we have a hamster now?" Sam asked, feeling immediately like an idiot as soon as he voiced it. _What the hell sort of question was that, Sam? You could've given the man something a little better to work with—how's he supposed to respond to that?_

"Do you now?" Pastor Jim asked, indicating with an indulgent smile that he was perfectly willing to let Sam do most of the talking. _Must be another one of those preacher-man things--guess he has to be a good listener. Whatever works. Just go with it, _Sam thought with a mental shrug, picking up where he left off.

"Yessir. I brought him in last night while you were carrying in the twins. His name's Boo. He's real cute…Dean doesn't like him much, though."

"He never has cared for rodents."

"Nope. I keep thinking I'll turn around and Boo will have mysteriously vanished—with a little help from Dean," Sam said with a laugh, pausing while Pastor Jim chuckled. "But anyways…oh yeah, Aubrey's okay, too, 'cept when she needs help with her hair. I mean, she cries a lot, but Dad says she probably isn't like that all the time. He says she's just tryin' to deal with things."

"That's quite insightful for your father," Jim said, looking rather impressed before he smiled back at Sam. "And I'm sure he's right."

"Yeah, I guess. _I_ think it's 'cause she's a girl. I don't get her," Sam said, shaking his head ruefully. "Then again, I don't really get Braden, either...Sometimes they can be a pain, but overall, you know, they're not so bad."

"There's hardly a family on God's green earth that wouldn't say the same of its members at some point," Jim told him with a smile. "Every family has its ups and downs, but in the end, things will work out, Samuel."

"Yeah, I just wish we'd get to that part already, where Dean isn't pissed off, and Dad's not yelling at him, and Aubrey's not crying…"

"Pastor Jim?" Aubrey's voice cut in from the doorway.

"Yes?"

"Um, Braden found a book and he wants to know if he can look at it."

"What book is it, Aubrey?" Pastor Jim asked her, turning away to focus on her. She frowned, trying to think for a moment before she abruptly leaned back out into the hallway, holding a whispered conversation with Braden before she reappeared in the doorway.

"He says it's called _Early Christian Rites and Artifacts_."

"That's a bit heavy for an eight-year-old, Aubrey. What does he want with it?"

As she leaned back out, Sam rolled his eyes, casting a wry look at Pastor Jim. _For cryin' out loud—this is completely stupid._

"You know, Pastor Jim," he began dryly, "the fact that Aubrey does most of the talking for them wouldn't be so bad if we weren't getting the entire freakin' conversation secondhand."

"It's quite alright, Samuel. There's no harm done."

"No, it just takes forever to—"

"Be quiet, Sam," Aubrey broke in. "We're not finished asking Pastor Jim."

"Well if it didn't take you so damn long to get to the point," Sam started, but Pastor Jim held up a hand, forestalling further argument.

"Samuel, please watch your language. Aubrey, what did Braden say?"

"Oh, he said he wants to see if it has anything about…um…I forgot…hang on. What did you call it again, Bray?" she asked aloud, leaning back around the door.

"Braden," Sam yelled over his shoulder, "this would be a helluva lot easier if you'd come in here and tell Pastor Jim yourself!"

"Bray doesn't talk to strangers," Aubrey said matter-of-factly, leaning back in to level a stern look at her older brother.

"The guy's a _pastor_, for cryin' out loud," Sam said, throwing his hands up exasperatedly. "You're being paranoid."

"I don't know what that means, Sam, but Mama would say you're bein' a piss-ant."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're getting' on our nerves! Me and Bray was talkin' to Pastor Jim, and you keep interruptin' us."

"But that's just it—you and Bray _aren't_ talking to Pastor Jim! Bray is talking to _you_, and _you're _talking to Pastor Jim. It's like a stupid game of 'Telephone'!"

"It's not stupid!" Aubrey said hotly, Braden now standing at her shoulder in a silent show of support.

"Yeah, it is!"

"No, it's not!"

"Alright, I think we've had enough family squabbling for the day," Jim broke in, putting an immediate halt to the burgeoning argument that was no doubt well on its way to escalating. "Samuel, go get showered and dressed. Aubrey, why don't you and Braden go and get the book and bring it in here so that we can look at it together?"

Realizing how stupid it was to play "Is Not-Is Too" with an eight-year-old, Sam gladly took the out Pastor Jim offered and headed down the hall to get his shower, hoping that the twins had left some hot water for him.

_Maybe they'll be normal by the time I come out…and maybe Hell will freeze over. I don't get it—I mean, they had normal, at least until a few days ago—so how come, even though they haven't spent their whole lives living with Dad on his crusade against all things evil, they're still not quite normal? I mean, Braden shouldn't know all that shit he knows, and Aubrey…well, ok, Aubrey might be alright…but then again, she does cry a lot—is that normal? Maybe that's normal for a girl…What is 'normal' for a girl? Oh what the hell does it matter? We're Winchesters—none of us are normal…_

With a shrug, Sam decided to shelve that particular mental exercise for later. _Maybe I'll ask Dean—he'd know, for sure. He knows girls._ With that thought in mind, Sam went to grab his bag, hoping that Pastor Jim could just keep the twins occupied without much trouble until he had taken his shower.

* * *

By the time Sam returned, fully-dressed, Jim had settled on the couch with the twins, Sam's blanket and pillow from the night before neatly placed at the end of the couch. Jim was in the middle, one twin on either side of him, and it was obvious that he was winning them over as he slowly turned the pages in the book, not so much reading word-for-word but reading the captions that went along with the pictures that they took turns pointing at.

"Whatcha readin' about?" Sam asked, propping himself up on the back of the couch and leaning over Braden's shoulder.

"Pastor Jim's readin' us about this book," Aubrey said, smiling up at Sam, obviously not planning to hold a grudge against Sam for their earlier argument. Without looking up at Sam, Braden pointed at a picture of what looked to be a large stone obelisk with Latin phrases carved around its base, obviously waiting for Pastor Jim to tell him about it.

"Ah, that, Braden," Jim began, "is a sentinel stone, meant to serve as protection from evil."

"In-sig-nio…ob-scu…," Aubrey began, trying to sound out the Latin words, only to stop two words in and stare up at Pastor Jim in confusion. "What's that say?"

"_Insignio obscurum ex nostrum animus ut malum mos non sto pro nos,_" Jim read smoothly. "It means—"

"'Distinguish the darkness from our souls, so that evil will not stand before us'," Braden intoned, his voice almost seeming to echo eerily.

"Why, yes, that's right," Jim said with surprise.

"Where does it say that?" Sam asked, leaning closer to look for the translation in the caption.

"Dunno," Braden mumbled softly.

Just then, the phone rang, and Sam shot off the couch, running for the phone located in the kitchen. _Please let it be Dad, please let it be Dad!_

"Hello?" he said breathlessly, his hand clenched tightly around the receiver.

"Sam?"

"Dad!" _Yes! Thanks, God!_ "How's Dean? Is he okay? Are you coming back to Pastor Jim's now?"

"Let me talk to Jim, Sam," John said wearily.

"But—"

"Now, Sam," he said, his voice hardening in that familiar way. _'Kay, he's definitely tired and well on his way to bein' pissy, but maybe the tiredness will work in my favor--one more try!_

"Dad—"

"Dammit, Samuel, put Jim on the phone!"

_Or I could just hang-up on your ass—how'd you like that, Dad?_ Sam thought angrily. _If I didn't want so badly to know how Dean was doing, I'd so do it. _But instead, he dropped the phone on the counter and headed for the door, passing Jim on the way.

"He wouldn't tell me anything—big surprise," he told Pastor Jim softly, his throat tight with anger as he shook his head in disappointment. Brushing past the twins, who had followed along behind Pastor Jim, Sam shoved the screen door open and walked out onto the front porch. He plopped down on the steps, staring angrily down at the dust. _Why's he gotta be like that? It wouldn't have hurt him to tell me what was going on with Dean… but no—he's always gotta make everything out to be some kind of big secret._

"Sam?" The screen door opened and Aubrey came outside to sit beside him, mirroring his pose—arms propped on knees, chin resting in hands. "Who was on the phone, Sam?"

"Who do you think it was?" Sam retorted, knowing well enough that he shouldn't take his anger out on her, but unwilling to take it back. But she didn't seem offended, so Sam gave a mental shrug and looked away.

"Was it Daddy?"

"Yeah."

"What did he say? Is he coming back now?"

"I wouldn't know," Sam told her hotly, his face tightening with frustration.

"Why not?"

_Because he's an asshole. _

But because she was still waiting for an answer, he turned back to look at her, his jaw clenched with anger.

"Because, Aubrey, Dad wouldn't tell me a damn thing—he never does!"

"Oh…" She fell silent then, and so did Sam, subsiding once again into the sullen anger that had grown more and more common as of late. They sat there for a long moment, Sam kicking the dust around with the toe of his sneaker, Aubrey copying him, and even though he was mad, Sam silently admitted that he was glad she was there. _At least if I'm gonna be left behind without a damn clue of what's goin' on, I'm not by myself anymore…it's not so lonely now._

The screen door creaked open behind them, and just as quickly slammed shut as Braden came out to join them, his footsteps measured and even as he walked toward them. Rather than join them on the steps, Braden wrapped an arm around a column, swinging around it playfully before he began to climb it.

"So what did they say, Bray?" Aubrey asked, looking up at him expectantly, planting her hands behind her so she could lean back and stare up at him.

"Well…" Braden began, "Daddy told Pastor Jim that he was sorry that he hadn't called sooner but it was 'cause those damn hospital people were sittin' around with their thumbs up their asses and it took 'em forever to do what the hell they're paid to do." _Wow, he nailed that—it's gotta be almost word-for-word, 'cause that's so totally Dad. How did he manage to overhear all of that? Who cares, Sam! Stay focused—find out about Dean!_

"Did he tell Pastor Jim anything about Dean?" Sam asked eagerly.

"I was gettin' to that—gimme a minute," Braden said importantly, pausing for a moment to scowl down at them. "'Kay, so then, Pastor Jim said it was alright—he didn't mind, he had just been worried. He asked Daddy what the doctor said, and Daddy said they was gonna mit Dean, 'cause he's …um, Daddy used a big word that I don't remember…but it sounded pretty icky."

"You mean, they're gonna _admit_ him?" Sam asked, hoping Braden would be able to remember.

"Yeah, that's it."

"But you don't remember what for?"

"Nope. Sorry."

"Aw, man."

"What's that mean, Sam? Is that bad?" Aubrey asked, frowning at Sam worriedly.

"It means they're gonna make Dean stay at the hospital—it's not real good."

"Oh."

"How'd you hear all that anyway?" Sam asked, looking up at where Braden was now perched along one of the porch rafters, swinging his feet lightheartedly.

"There's another phone in one of the other rooms—I listened."

"Hey, that's pretty impressive—you must be good at it if Dad didn't hear you."

"Yep."

"Did Dad say if we were gonna get to come see Dean?"

"He told Pastor Jim not to bring us 'til later, 'cause Dean was kinda out of it and bein' difficult, and he needed to sleep."

"Great," Sam mumbled. _Now we're stuck here with nothing to do until Dad quits being an ass and lets us come to the hospital._

"We're bored, Sam," Aubrey announced suddenly, startling Sam with the abrupt change in subject. "We don't got anything to do."

"Why don't you go back in and read with Pastor Jim again?"

"Nah, we already did that. 'Sides, Bray decided that that book didn't really have what he was lookin' for."

"What _were_ you lookin' for, Bray?" Sam asked, unconsciously picking up on Aubrey's nickname for him.

"I dunno."

"But I thought Aubrey said that you were lookin' for something," Sam pointed out, confused.

"Yeah, I was," Braden told him enigmatically. "I just don't know what it was that I was lookin' for."

"Then…how would you know you'd found it?" Sam asked him, staring at him with growing bewilderment.

"I'd know it when I saw it."

"That doesn't make a damn bit of sense, Braden," Sam said, shaking his head ruefully at his enigmatic little brother.

"Can we quit yappin' and go do somethin' now?" Aubrey interrupted impatiently.

"What did you wanna do?" Sam asked her, shifting sideways to lean against the column opposite the one Braden had climbed.

"Oh, I know! We can play with my Barbies—I've got just enough!"

"Are you shittin' me? No way!" Sam said immediately. _I can just see it now—I cave and play stupid Barbies, and Dean finds out and gives me hell about it for the rest of my life. No. No way in hell. Absolutely not! _

"C'mon, please!"

"No! I'm a thirteen-year-old boy—Barbies are for girls. Besides, if Dean ever found out, I'd never hear the end of it!"

"I won't tell, I swear! Please!" she begged, obviously sensing her brother's reluctance.

"Can we pull their heads off?" Braden asked, and Sam paused, considering. _Hmm…now _that _idea has merit. Too bad she'll never go for it._

"Heads are too hard to get back on," Aubrey began, "…but you can pull the legs off—that would be okay," she said after a moment's consideration.

"What about arms?" Braden asked, obviously only willing to commit if he was certain of the amount of destruction he could wreak.

"Um, nope—if you rip arms off, the shoulder parts crack and then they're no good anymore, 'cause the arms won't go back in."

"Burial?"

"As long as it's just dirt—no mud. Too messy."

"Well…"

"C'mon! I'll even let you mangle one of 'em's feet a little bit, if you want," she said desperately.

"You'd really let us do all that?" Sam asked, not really sure when he'd actually agreed to playing with the stupid dolls but aware that he'd technically consented the moment he asked the question.

"Yeah, with the right pair of shoes, I can hide it."

"Oooookay," Braden finally agreed, grabbing hold of the column and sliding back down, dropping easily to the ground. As Aubrey skipped happily back inside to retrieve her Barbies, Sam found himself alongside Braden, the two of them waiting on the porch for her to return.

"How the hell did I get roped into this?" Sam asked Braden grudgingly, turning to stare down at his little brother with a look of helplessness.

"It's not bad, really, not if you negotiate first," Braden said knowledgeably. "I drive a hard bargain, so she lets me do all sorts of things to 'em. 'Course, you gotta be careful, 'cause I didn't negotiate for us to break 'em. If you break one of 'em, you have to buy her a new one."

At that moment, Aubrey returned, three Barbies held in her arms as she beamed at her brothers.

"Here, Sam, you're new, so you can pick first," she said happily, holding them out for Sam to inspect. _Oh, man, this is gonna be worse than I thought._

"Don't you have any dudes?" he asked, eyeing the three dolls with a grimace of disgust.

"You mean a Ken?" she asked him.

"Uh…" _What the hell is she talkin' about? And I thought Braden was the one that didn't make any sense._

"Boy Barbies are called Ken," Braden told him knowledgeably, apparently taking pity on his clueless older brother and deciding to fill him in. "Or sometimes, they're Steve. But most of 'em are Kens. And Aubrey doesn't like the Kens," he explained. "She likes the girl Barbies, 'cause they have a bunch of hair she can brush. Ken's hair is plastic."

"Oh. Right."

They stared at him expectantly, and Sam frowned, unnerved by it.

"What?"

"You're supposed to pick, Sam," Aubrey said in exasperation. "Hurry!"

"Oh…um, I guess…wait a minute. Look, before this goes any farther, you two have to _swear_ you won't breathe a word of this to Dean. Or Dad."

"Promise," they both replied simultaneously, and Sam stared at them, his eyes promising retaliation if they broke their word before he finally heaved a sigh, turning his gaze back to the three dolls Aubrey was holding out.

"You do realize that these dolls have completely unrealistic and disproportionate bodies, right?" he asked as he looked them over with a discerning eye. "I mean, over half of her body is composed of legs, which makes her look decidedly short on top. And her chest, while impressive from a Ken's point-of-view, would never occur naturally. I mean, if she was a real person, she'd look like a total freak—"

"Saaaaaamm," Aubrey said with growing annoyance, even as Braden looked on with a smile.

"Fine…Dibs on the brunette, then," he mumbled.

And that was how Sam found himself spending half of the day playing with Barbies and wondering what the hell his life had come to. _This is pretty pathetic. I'm sittin' here in the dirt watching Braden bury the latest casualty of our war…I gotta give him credit for creativity, but I sorta feel like an idiot…_

Having pulled most of the dolls' legs off, Braden had started burying them in the dirt, and Sam could tell Aubrey was beginning to regret the burial part of their negotiations.

"Thought you said it was okay?" Sam asked, pausing as he dug a larger hole for the doll to fit in.

"I forgot about their clothes gettin' dirty," she said sadly. Sam looked at Braden, and Braden looked back at him for a long moment before he sighed with regret.

"Oh alright," he said, tossing the doll back into Aubrey's lap. The sound of a throat clearing had them looking up to see Pastor Jim standing inside the screen door with a smile.

"If you three are about done, lunch is ready," he said quietly. "Wash up before you come to the table please," he said, eyeing the dirt liberally smattered over all three of them.

"Ah, come on, Pastor Jim—it's just a little dirt," Sam said with a grin. "God made dirt, and dirt don't hurt," he quoted, and Jim shook his head ruefully.

"I sincerely hope, Samuel, that that little maxim is not the only bit you recall from your oh-so-brief stint in Sunday School," Jim said sternly, although Sam could tell the old man was teasing. With a grin, Sam stood up and dusted off his shorts before hauling Braden and Aubrey up.

Jim disappeared back inside as Sam helped the twins brush the dirt off their clothes before leading the way into the house to wash up.

"Remember, you guys promised not to say anything," Sam said as they walked inside. Aubrey turned to him with a smile, her blue eyes staring up at him innocently.

"Yep, we remember," she told him cheerfully.

_God, I hope they keep their mouths shut…but then, I don't really know them all that well…how well can they keep a secret? What if they're both blabbermouths? _With growing horror, Sam found himself nervously watching them as they ran ahead of him to the bathroom sink, suddenly recalling everything they'd revealed about each other in the few days since he'd met them. _What the hell was I thinking? Aubrey talks all the time! She's gonna tell, I just know it!_ As if sensing his gaze, Aubrey turned, smiling happily over her shoulder at Sam before nudging Braden over and taking her turn at washing her hands.

_Shit. _

* * *

By the time they reached the kitchen, Jim had set a plate of sandwiches on the table, as well as glasses of iced tea and potato chips.

After Aubrey forced Sam to take his turn at saying the blessing—a task which Sam did grudgingly—the three of them tucked into the food, all of them having worked up an appetite by this point. Aubrey grabbed her glass and took a sip only to grimace and spit it back out into the cup.

"Pastor Jim, something's wrong with your tea," she told him earnestly. "You sure you fixed it right?"

"What's wrong with it?" Sam asked, picking up his own glass and taking a sip. "Tastes alright to me."

"Uh-uh, it's gross. Here, taste mine and see," she said, shoving her glass toward him. With a sigh, Sam took a sip of hers, only to frown at her as he swallowed.

"What the hell, Aubrey? There's nothin' wrong with it—it's fine," he told her, shaking his head as he pushed the glass back at her.

"Samuel?" Jim said softly.

"Sir?"

"I believe I asked you to watch your language."

"Oh. Sorry, Pastor Jim," Sam said with an apologetic look. _I always forget that. _

"Pastor Jim, can me and Bray have something else to drink?" Aubrey asked, looking up at Pastor Jim hopefully. "Bray doesn't think the tea tastes right either."

"Aubrey, you're bein' rude," Sam said with a hiss, casting an apologetic look at Pastor Jim before glaring at the little girl.

"I'm not tryin' to be rude, Sam!" she protested, shaking her head. "But it don't taste right."

"It's alright. I think I have lemonade—how would that be, Aubrey?"

"Pastor Jim, you don't have to go to a bunch of trouble. Dad would totally chew her out for bein' rude like that," Sam said, well aware that their father wouldn't tolerate rudeness, whether intended or not. _Especially when we're gettin' free food. 'Never bitch about free food,' he always says. _

"Samuel, I imagine your brother and sister are accustomed to _sweet_ tea. They're likely finding unsweetened tea to taste rather bitter. Fix them some lemonade, please."

With a sigh of annoyance, Sam grudgingly went to the refrigerator and pulled out the pitcher of lemonade, casting a dark look over his shoulder at the twins before he started to pour two glasses.

"So, Pastor Jim, when are you gonna take us to see Dean, already?" Sam asked, setting the two glasses down on the table in front of the twins. "It's been hours, and Dean's gonna be wonderin' where we're at." _Ok, he's gonna be wondering where _I'm_ at, but I guess it would hurt their feelings if I left them out._

"Your father asked that I wait until tomorrow morning to bring you all. Dean's very ill and he doesn't need the noise and excitement of having all of us there."

"Tomorrow morning! Pastor Jim, we can't wait that long," Sam said hotly.

"I know that's not what you wanted to hear," Jim began apologetically, "but your father made it very clear—"

"Who cares what Dad says! Dean's there, and I should be with him, not sittin' here with my thumb up my ass waiting for Dad to stop being a jerk!"

"Samuel, I'm a patient, forgiving man, but I don't tolerate that sort of behavior, especially not at the table," Jim said, giving Sam a hard look that was, as usual, enough to get the message across without raising his voice.

_Fine, I'll just leave then._

His fists clenched angrily, his jaw tight, Sam stood up, knocking his chair backwards. Ignoring Aubrey and Braden's stares, Sam stalked past them and headed for the living room. Throwing himself on the couch, he turned on the television, blindly flipping through channels with the remote control, not knowing what else to do.

_Dean's gonna think I just didn't wanna come. He's gonna think I'd rather stay with the twins than with him! 'Cause Dad sure as hell won't get it—he won't know to tell Dean that he wouldn't let us come. And what's the big deal about letting us come anyway? We wouldn't be that noisy, and besides, as sick as Dean is, we could probably scream at the top of our lungs and he wouldn't know it. This freakin' sucks out loud!_

An hour and a half later, Sam was still sitting morosely in front of the TV, though the twins had joined him shortly after he'd left the table. Jim had cleaned up the kitchen, Sam knew, before joining them, his Bible on his knee and a notepad resting on the arm of the chair as he worked on his next sermon. The twins had settled on the floor in front of the TV, seemingly content as they colored in a coloring book and absentmindedly watched the show Sam had turned it to. Except for the TV, it was quiet, so when the phone rang, Sam wasn't the only one who jumped a bit.

Sam didn't pay any attention as Jim stood up and went to answer it in the kitchen, instead continuing to stare at the TV sullenly. As he absentmindedly overheard Pastor Jim answer the phone, he shifted on the couch, tired and annoyed.

"Does your father know you're calling?"

_Dean! It's Dean!_

Lunging for the TV, he quickly turned it off, not bothering to search for the mute button on the remote.

"Sam! We was watching that!" Aubrey exclaimed.

"Shhh! Listen!" Sam hissed, moving toward the door for better eavesdropping purposes.

"Dean, does he know you're calling?" Pastor Jim asked again. Sam waited, hoping he'd be able to guess what Dean was saying based on Pastor Jim's response. But either Dean wasn't being incredibly forthcoming with information, or Pastor Jim was being his usual cryptic self.

"Where's your father, Dean?" Pastor Jim asked, his tone calm but assertive as he spoke into the phone. There was a pause while he waited for Dean to answer, but Sam couldn't tell if Dean actually answered the question or not.

"No, he's fine, son," Pastor Jim was saying now. "You don't have to worry, I'm taking good care—... ... ... Dean, you need to rest... ... Alright, alright," he said soothingly. "Calm down, I'll put him on." _Yes! _Sam thought, bursting through the door before Jim even had time to call his name. He eagerly grabbed the phone out of Jim's hand, turning his back as he raised it to his ear.

"Dean?"

"Sammy…" His voice was so soft and hesitant that for a moment, Sam couldn't believe it was really his brother on the line.

"Man, Dean, you sound like shit, dude," Sam said worriedly. "You okay?"

"Sammy, I…you gotta…"

"What, Dean? What is it?"

"Why…aren't…why aren't...you here? You're…s'posed to…s'posed to...be here…" Dean said haltingly, sounding weak and out-of-breath as he struggled to get his thoughts out.

_I knew it! I knew he'd be wondering where I was, dammit!_

"Dad told Pastor Jim to wait until tomorrow to bring us," Sam told him dejectedly. "Dad's just being a jerk again."

"But…I need…you need…you…should...be here," Dean told him softly, sounding more like a scared little kid than Sam's invincible older brother.

"Dean, I—"

"Can't...you…come...now?"

"What'll Dad say?"

"Please...Sammy," Dean whispered. "Too...many...people...here…don't know 'em…"

And at that moment, Sam couldn't have cared less what his father would say. _He'll just have to get over it—if Dad shits a brick when I show up, so be it. Dean needs me._

"Okay, Dean. I'll be there soon."

"I'll..wait...for...you," Dean told him, and a second later, the dial tone echoed in Sam's ear for a moment before he handed the phone back to Jim, who was looking at him with a disapproving look on his face.

"Samuel. I hope to Heaven you didn't just promise your brother you were coming today," Pastor Jim said solemnly.

"Pastor Jim, please, you've gotta take me there! I need to be there!"

"I know you want to see him, son, but you're asking me to go against your father's wishes. And _that_ is something I cannot do."

"Why not?!"

"Because he is still your father, Samuel, apart from whether I agree or disagree with him regarding his method of parenting. Now he asked that I wait until tomorrow morning to bring all of you, and tomorrow morning is soon enough," he told Sam firmly, but not unkindly.

"But—"

"No, Samuel."

_Fine_, Sam thought, turning away with a scowl._ If you won't take me, I'll just find my own way. A taxi or a bus will work just fine._

Turning, he saw the twins staring at him questioningly, as though wondering what to do next. Motioning for them to follow him, he brushed past Pastor Jim and headed for the front door. Shutting the door firmly behind the twins, he hurried for the large oak tree in the yard, putting his back to the trunk and sliding down to sit on the ground. The twins joined him, sitting down on either side of them, seeming to sense that Sam had something to say. _Please let Aubrey go for this. Otherwise, things are gonna get tricky._

"Guys, I need your help."

"What do you need us to do?" Braden asked, his blue eyes staring solemnly up at Sam.

"I need you to keep Pastor Jim distracted for awhile."

"Oh, that's easy—we can do that," Aubrey said easily, a lighthearted smile on her face.

"How come?" Braden asked, zeroing in on the heart of the matter quickly and efficiently.

_Yeah, that's the part I'm worried about._

"'Cause I've gotta go to the hospital—Dean's waitin' for me," Sam said slowly.

"You're gonna leave us?" Aubrey asked, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.

_Shit. Okay, you knew this would happen, Sam—Braden's easy, it's Aubrey that you're gonna have to convince. Talk her into it, and Braden will go with it._

"Only for a little bit," Sam told her hurriedly. "And Bray will still be here, and Pastor Jim! He'll look out for you until I get back. And I'm not going far—just to the hospital, I swear!"

"I don't want you to leave us, Sam," she said tearfully. "If you leave, then there won't be nobody left!"

"Please, Aubrey," Sam pleaded, totally not above begging if it meant she'd agree to help him. "C'mon, Dean's really sick, and I need to be there with him."

"Can't we go with you?"

"No, Pastor Jim would notice if _all _of us went—that's why I need you two to keep him busy until I can get to the hospital."

"It's alright, Sam. We'll help," Braden broke in. Aubrey turned to stare at him, her eyes wide with a look of betrayal and dismay.

"Bray, we can't let Sam leave! Then we won't have nobody! Mama's not here, and Daddy's gone, and Dean…if Sam leaves, then we're all alone!" she said, tears rolling down her face.

"We won't be all alone, Aubby," Braden told her earnestly. "You've still got me here, and Pastor Jim seems okay—he'll take care of us until Daddy and Sam get back. 'Sides, they're not far—just a car ride away."

"But—"

"Aubby. Sam's been real nice to us—he even played stupid Barbies with you. It'd be real mean of you to not help him when he needs us to. We'll be alright 'til he gets back, and I bet he could call us. Right, Sam?"

"Yeah, sure!" Sam said with a vigorous nod. "So will you do it, Aubrey, please?" he asked hesitantly.

_Please say yes, please say yes._

Finally, after a long moment, Aubrey nodded, and Sam let out the breath he was holding.

"Thanks, guys! You're the best!"

After he surreptitiously gathered up his meager savings—dollar bills he'd picked up along the way, cast-offs from gas station runs and grocery store change, he gave the twins last minute instructions and grabbed his backpack, waiting silently in the hallway for the twins to suitably distract Pastor Jim. As Aubrey kept Jim occupied, Braden gave Sam the signal, and Sam shot out the door, silently and completely unnoticed.

_Now to get to Dean. _

* * *

A/N: Please note that I don't speak Latin--I used a random internet translator tool for the Latin phrase, so if there's anything wrong with it, sorry, but it's the best I could do. Anyways, sorry for the long wait, everyone! I always try to wait for approval from both of my betas, and they have lives, too, so it's sometimes a waiting game. That, and I kept adding/changing this chapter. Hopefully, the wait was worth it. Thanks to everyone who reviewed—keep 'em coming!

**jade1056**: Thanks for the wonderful compliments and for taking the time to review! It means a lot! Hopefully, you enjoyed this chapter as much as the last!

**I'mcalledZorro**: Thanks for reviewing! I hope this chapter was worth the wait! Let me know what you think!

**Poppyflake**: Don't worry too much about John being more understanding…things are gonna get smoothed over a bit in the next chapter, I think (I haven't actually gotten that far with it, but I'm working towards that at least). I'm hoping to include a nice Dean-John sentimental Hallmark moment…lol. We'll see. Anyways, thanks, as always, for reviewing! Looking forward to hearing what you thought about this chapter!

**zuimar**: So, I realize there wasn't a lot of "hurt-Dean" in this chapter, but you'll get more in the next chapter. It'll be John's POV, but Dean will definitely factor into it, so I think you'll get an appropriate Dean-fix. I realize this may not have been quite the chapter you were hoping for in terms of a guilt-ridden John or a guilt-inducing Jim, but I hope it'll suffice. Let me know what you think! Thanks for reviewing!

**Hero Lilly**: So what did you think of this one? I so wasn't going to go for the trip to the hospital, but it just seemed like the best route for moving my plot (what, there's a plot?) forward. Granted, it wasn't quite the family trip to the ER you were looking for, but there'll definitely be some hospital scenes coming up! Anyways, thanks for reviewing for me! I appreciate it!

**lilgurlgreen**: More "hurt!angsty!Dean!" to come, so stay tuned! Thanks for the review!

**nightingale**: It was so nice to hear from you—your compliments were so touching! I'm really glad you gave my sister/brother fic a shot, especially since it's not typically your thing. I'm actually kinda picky about them myself, so I can understand people not necessarily wanting to read it. Yes, my story definitely takes a backseat to the characters, but I'm planning to move ahead a few years soon, and then I can start to hone the plot. Yes, there's a plot…it's just not readily apparent yet. But I'm glad you're sticking with me, despite that! Thanks so much for reviewing!

**Kat Loves Sam Winchester**: I'm really glad you like Aubrey—she's definitely fun to write, so I'm glad you're enjoying her. I'm rather partial to Braden, myself, but I guess it's because I know what I have planned for him. I don't know that I'll necessarily write the spankings in, but John certainly threatens…I dunno…we'll see. I don't know if a moment for it will ever come up.


	13. Unanswered Questions

A/N: I was originally trying to update once a week, but given how long my chapters are starting to get, I realize now that that was wishful thinking on my part. So more than likely, we're looking at updates every two weeks instead. So, yeah, I'm sorry about the long wait, but it's the best I can do. On another note, this chapter was particularly difficult to write, so I'm hoping I pulled it off okay—I got mixed results from my betas, so I had to make an executive decision—LOL! Anyways, thanks CagedTroll and mimishell for your beta-ing services! Love you guys! CagedTroll writes SN fics, too, so check out her profile page for some good fics!

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 13—Unanswered Questions

From his chair by the bed, John watched Dean as he finally gave up the fight and fell into a restless sleep, the heart monitor's incessant beeping at last subsiding into a slower, if somewhat unsteady, tone. Breathing a sigh of relief, John sat back, feeling the exhaustion of a twenty-hour drive and a night without sleep finally starting to catch up with him. _Damn, I'm not as young as I used to be._ _'Course, in my defense, I've had a lot of shit to deal with, and Dean isn't exactly easy to handle when he's sick. _ The normally compliant seventeen-year-old had been just lucid enough when they reached the hospital to become completely resistant to his father and any hospital staff who were unlucky enough to find themselves working the late shift. Neither one of them had handled things well. He'd been fighting the belligerent teenager for hours now, Dean too out-of-it to know what he was really doing.

_I shouldn't have been so hard on him_, John thought as he stared at the unconscious seventeen-year-old, his head buried under the pillow as was the norm. _I knew he felt bad—I mean, hell, I wasn't bringing him to the hospital for shits and giggles. _

It had never been exactly easy for John to admit when he was wrong, but even he couldn't deny that he'd taken his exhaustion and frustration out on his oldest son. He couldn't exactly recall everything he'd said in the heat of the moment, but what he _was_ able to remember wasn't pretty.

"_Dammit, Dean—you're not helping, here! You're only making things worse by fighting me and these people who are trying their damnedest to help you! Now you man up and you cut this shit out—you're embarrassing me!"_ he'd said as he fought to get Dean to cooperate with the nurses for the umpteenth time. Dean had stilled, which was sort of what John had been going for, but then he'd completely withdrawn into a motionless silence. It wasn't even that John's words had been that harsh, definitely not as scathing as what he said in their last confrontation, but it was as though John's rebuke was the final straw, the one that broke the camel's back. John had a bad feeling about it this time around. _Hell, I got lucky after that last fight—I said things, things I shouldn't have, and he got quiet after that one, too…but he snapped out of it then. Somehow, I get the feeling it's not gonna be that easy this time. How do I always manage to screw things up with my kids? I shouldn't have taken my frustration out on him—he didn't deserve that._

He looked at Dean with a discerning eye, not at all pleased with the flushed cheeks and the sheen of sweat coating his face. _Thank God for Jim—if he hadn't convinced me to bring Dean to the hospital, this could have gone south real fast…not that he's all that great as it is. But at least the docs said we caught it in time. _ He'd been in the early stages of sepsis, brought on by the infection that had taken hold in the stitched up wounds in his side. If they'd let it go any further, the boy could have wound up in total septic shock, which John knew, had an alarmingly high death rate. Because Dean's blood pressure continued to fluctuate and his breathing was still a bit too rapid, the doctors had decided not to take any chances, which meant Dean was hooked into not only a heart monitor and blood pressure cuff but also to a nasal canula that was supplying him with oxygen. _And of course, Jim was right about him being dehydrated. He's always right about shit like that. _So Dean was also sporting an IV, which was distributing fluids as well as antibiotics and whatever else the doctors had added to the drug cocktail that was coursing through his veins. _All in all, the kid looks like hell. And I can't help but feel like it's at least partly my fault._

Seeing the door begin to open, John looked up to see Holly, one of the nurses who'd been in and out peeking inside.

"Did he finally fall asleep, Mr. Winchester?" she asked softly, eyeing the still form partially hidden under the pillow.

"Yeah. Just now. Don't know how long he'll stay down, but it's something I guess."

"You look tired," she said kindly, staring at him with a nurse's perceptive gaze, and John didn't dispute her.

"Yeah, I could use a cup of joe," John said, rubbing his hand down his face wearily before he looked up at her with bleary eyes. _Guess it would have been easier on me if I had just agreed to let them give him a sedative…but he hates the way they make him feel, and I just couldn't add to the kid's misery. Hell, he probably would've ended up puking his guts up afterward, and then it'd be a toss-up as to which one of us would feel worse about it, me or him._

"The café downstairs has the best freshly-brewed coffee, but if you don't mind drinking sludge, there's vending machine coffee down the hall," she told him with a smile.

"Ah, I think I need high octane coffee this go-round—I'm gonna drop if I don't get quality caffeine in my bloodstream. Will he be alright, you think, if I go downstairs for a few minutes?"

"I'm sure he'll be fine. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say he's so worn out, he'll probably sleep for awhile."

"Good. You think you could peek in on him if I'm not back in a few? Just to make sure he's still asleep."

"Of course, Mr. Winchester," she said with a nod, stepping in to check the monitor and the IV line as John stepped out of the room.

"I won't be long," he said over his shoulder before he left the room. Bypassing the elevator in favor of the stairs, he began the trek down to the first floor, where coffee awaited.

* * *

"Mr. Winchester?"

John looked up from the café-style table where he sat with his styrofoam cup of coffee and a newspaper to see Holly approaching him with a worried expression. _Oh shit, what now? Please don't tell me someone woke him up._

"Yeah?" he asked warily, staring up at her with a narrowed gaze.

"I went in to check on Dean a few minutes ago, and well…I'm afraid he wasn't there."

"What?! Where the hell is he?"

"We're not sure—but security is searching the hospital, and the staff has been notified to keep an eye open for him."

_Dammit! If Dean doesn't want to be found, your lame-ass rent-a-cop security isn't gonna be able to do a damn thing—how the hell did this happen? I've only been gone for half-an-hour!_ The idea that Dean could have walked right past without John noticing stuck in his craw, and he gritted his teeth, torn between feeling proud that his son could get past him without anyone being the wiser and worry that the boy was wandering around, sick and no doubt confused and lost.

"Did he tear the IV out?" John asked, now concerned that his son might not only be walking around sick but also bleeding.

"No, surprisingly—seems like he knew what he was doing. Clamped off the IV tube and disconnected it, left the needle in his hand."

"Well, at least there's that," John replied, choosing not to comment any further on the details of that one. _No need to let her know how he knows how to do that sort of thing… _

"Shit," he said with a sigh, rubbing his hand through his hair for what felt like the millionth time that day. "Alright, I'll start looking for him myself—if I had to guess, I'd say he probably headed for the parking lot to find a way outta here. Let your people know to wait for me if they find him before I do—I don't want anybody hurt."

If Holly found it strange that John was worried about his seventeen-year-old injuring adult security personnel, she didn't let on, and John was grateful for that at least. Climbing to his feet, John took one last sip of his coffee before regretfully dropping it into a nearby trashcan and moved toward the exit. _Please let my instincts be right about this one,_ John thought as he walked through the automatic doors leading to the parking lot. _Otherwise, I haven't got a damn clue, and then it's gonna be absolute hell trying to find him._

* * *

John found him on a bench right outside the main entrance, his hospital blanket wrapped snugly around him as he sat there staring off into the distance, appearing completely oblivious to the fact that his father was coming up behind him.

"Dean, what the hell are you doin' out here, son?" he asked, his tone gruff but not harsh as he came to stand in front of Dean.

Dean looked up at him for the briefest moment but didn't reply, his eyes drifting back to the street, where he locked his gaze with an intensity bordering on obsessive. With a sigh, John sat down beside him, frowning as he placed the back of his hand against Dean's forehead. _Shit, he's still runnin' hot. _

His worry increased when Dean didn't resist his assessment, and he shifted, moving closer so as to be in a position to help Dean stand.

"Son, you need to come back inside," John said softly, knowing instinctively that Dean was a bit too fragile for the demanding drill-sergeant orders that were an interminable part of John Winchester's usual _modus operandi_. Dean didn't react, however, leaving John to wonder if the boy was ignoring him, or if he was just too out of it to really focus on what John was saying. When Dean just continued to watch the street with intense concentration, John found himself following his son's gaze, looking for what was keeping Dean's attention. But there was nothing there, at least, nothing out of the ordinary that John could see.

"You lookin' for something?"

Dean nodded jerkily, seeming to remain upright only through sheer force of will so that he could continue his scrutiny of the street before them.

"There's nothing there, Dean. It's time to go back inside now," John told him quietly. Dean pulled his eyes away from the street to look at him then, a pleading expression on his face as he shook his head desperately. It hadn't escaped John's notice that Dean hadn't said a word, and it only added to his frustration that not only could he not understand what his son was trying to tell him but that he had no one to blame but himself. John knew well enough that he was the one who had pushed Dean too hard, his cutting words ripping into the boy with all of the sharpness of a consecrated iron dagger. _I just don't understand him. Boy's strong as hell--he can face evil incarnate without flinching, without hesitating or faltering, but all it takes is a sharp word from me and he can fall apart right in front of me. _

_Why the hell do I take my frustration out on my kids?_

"You're gonna have to give me a little more than that, Dean—I don't understand what you're trying to tell me, son," John said, forcing the frustration out of his tone with a willpower that was comparable to his son's.

Swallowing hard, Dean tapped his wrist, his eyes not quite meeting his father's as he fought to make himself understood. His gaze darted from the hospital, to the street, then back to John, repeating the motions before looking back at John pointedly.

"You sayin' you want to wait a little longer before you go back in?" John asked, feeling a bit like an idiot as he tried to guess what Dean was trying so hard to tell him. _It's like a damn game of charades. I hate charades, always have. _

Dean nodded, and John released a silent sigh of relief. _Thank God—that was all I had. If that hadn't been right, we could have been out here for eternity. Couldn't Dean have picked some other way of coping with shit than this damned silence? Hell._

He knew Dean wasn't doing it on purpose, but it sure as hell wasn't easy to deal with him when the boy's brain decided to shut off all access to speech. John knew from painful experience that Dean had never really learned to cope when things spiraled out of his control. When a four-year-old Dean had remained silent for a month without any signs of improvement, John had finally broken down and taken him to a psychologist, who had informed John that while therapy could help Dean reduce his anxiety and thereby allow him to resume speaking, he would still likely revert to silence when he was pushed beyond his ability to cope. _And I'll be damned if that bastard wasn't right. A hell of a lot of good therapy did, if Dean still goes mute instead of handling shit better. _John knew well enough that Dean wrapped himself in a silence so all-consuming that he had a hell of a time pulling himself back out. And the longer he held onto it, the harder it would be. That silence, John knew, took on a life of its own.

But in all fairness, though, John knew that while Dean would probably have still been pissed off upon finding out about the twins, he wouldn't have taken it so badly had he not been dealing with a wrecked knee and a raging infection. _ Yeah, now, he's just a bundle of nerves, too damn anxiety-ridden to speak. __But damn if it isn't my own fault. __Great parenting there, Johnny._

Wanting nothing more than to press the issue and force his oldest to accompany him back into the hospital, he nevertheless knew that doing so would only make things worse. But watching Dean waver before his eyes wasn't easy either, so with a resigned sigh, John slid closer, accepting Dean's weight as the exhausted teenager slumped against him with a sigh of his own. John shifted, lifting his arm and placing it around Dean's shoulder so that Dean was now resting against his chest and side. As John sat there with his oldest son, neither of them speaking, he found himself wishing that he could fix things, but not really certain he knew how.

_What does it say about me that I can't remember the last time I hugged my son or__,__ hell, just tried to make him feel better?_ As he felt Dean shivering against him despite the warmth of the summer afternoon, John could honestly say that he felt guilty as hell. _He deserves better than this from me. I told myseIf that I was gonna make it all up to him, and instead I just made things worse. I'm a damn shitty father sometimes…Mary would shit a brick if she was seein' how bad I let this get. _

Just then, Dean moved, struggling to sit up on his own, his eyes glued to the street, where John could now see a taxi pulling up at the curb.

_What the hell? Did he actually call a damn taxi?_

But things suddenly became crystal clear to John as his younger son stepped out of the taxi, hiking his backpack onto his shoulder before handing over a wad of bills to the cab driver. Turning, Sam faltered when he saw his father and brother sitting on the bench, but obviously seeing no other option, he raised his chin and started toward them. _He has lost his damn mind, _John thought with incredulous anger as Sam came to stand before them with a sheepish expression on his face.

"Samuel, you wanna tell me what the _hell_ you're doing here after I told you to stay at Jim's?"

Dean's hand shot out suddenly, grabbing Sam by the shirt and hauling him closer, his fingers clenched tightly around the fabric as he turned a forlorn look at John, and even without saying a word, John knew what his oldest was asking of him.

_Dad, please don't._

"Um…well…"

"Forget it. We'll talk about it later. Dean needs to get back inside—he's been sittin' out here waiting for your ass to show up, which if I'd known, I wouldn't have let him do in the first place," John said brusquely, standing up and helping Dean to his feet, frowning when Dean stumbled into him. Sam slipped in wordlessly, then, helping to steady his older brother even as he scowled.

"Damn, Dean, when you said you'd wait for me, I didn't know you meant you'd sit your ass on a bench _outside_ and wait," Sam said, shaking his head ruefully.

"When did you talk to him?" John asked.

"Little while ago…he called," Sam said uncomfortably, as though he felt guilty for revealing that much to his father.

"Did he say much?"

"Nah, not too much. He had to fight for it," Sam told him quietly.

_Hell, at least it means Dean was able to talk to his brother, even if it was short and a struggle for him. Maybe Sam can pull him together. _

"Let's go, boys," he said at last, trying for the moment to let matters go until Dean was settled. It was no doubt going to be a long evening.

* * *

It was one of the quietest arguments they'd ever had, John reflected later. The entire _discussion_ had been held at barely more than a whisper, as Sam tried to rationalize his actions and John berated him for said actions while Dean rested, blissfully unaware, for once, of the dispute taking place. Finally, John's argumentative drive had run its course, and he'd been willing, for once, to let it go. As irritated as he was at the younger boy, John couldn't help but feel a burst of pride at the fact that while his son had defied him, Sam was nevertheless standing by his actions, looking John straight in the eye as he'd admitted to his father that he would do it again if his brother asked.

_He's loyal, I'll give him that—even if he is a pain- in-the-ass and exhausting to deal with sometimes… Damn, I wish I had the rest of that coffee, now. I'm gonna crash if I don't get a larger dose of caffeine in my system. Hell, at this point, I'll probably crash anyway. _

Glancing over at the boys, he watched Sam idly flip through channels from his place on the bed beside Dean, stretched out by his older brother's uninjured side. John's eyes shifted to Dean, who was sleeping easily for the first time since they'd gotten there, as if having his brother there made all the difference in the world for him. _Hell, it probably does. They're so used to bein' together that to be separated feels unnatural. And Dean, well, hell, I trained him to keep his brother close—boy's probably been subconsciously worried about Sam since he got here. And damn if Sam didn't try to tell me. _

_Why is it so hard for me to just listen to them?_

"Oh, shit!" Sam said, suddenly sitting up.

"What the hell, Sam?" John asked, startled out of his reverie by Sam's outburst.

"I'm supposed to call Aubrey and Braden—I promised 'em I would."

"Well then call 'em already," John said crankily.

"Um…could you hand me the phone? It's on the other side of Dean, and I don't wanna try to lean over him," Sam said with a sheepish shrug. "He's hooked up to all this shit—I'm scared I'll knock somethin' loose or set somethin' off."

Climbing to his feet with an aggravated sigh, John grabbed the phone off the bedside table and passed it over Dean's head to Sam, holding the cord away from Dean's face as he waited impatiently for Sam to make the call.

"Yeah, hey Braden," Sam said into the phone a moment later, the boy's younger brother obviously having reached the phone before anyone else. _Looks like Jim's no match for an eight-year-old when it comes to getting to the phone first_, John thought as Sam paused to listen to the little boy.

"_Is she okay? … … … Aw, man. Can you get her to come to the phone? ... … … Hey, Aub…yeah, I'm here at the hospital with Dean… … …yeah, he looks like shit…" _

Reaching over, John smacked Sam across the back of the head, frowning at him for the profanity, to which Sam responded with a total 'what the hell?' look. _Ok, I guess I shouldn't have expected him to clean up his language when he's talkin' to his sister, 'cause for damn sure I haven't cleaned up mine any…note to self, talk to the boys about their language, and watch my own…_He had a sneaking suspicion though that, good intentions aside, imagining they'd curb their language around the twins was merely wishful thinking.

"_Yeah, Dad's here,"_ Sam was saying, _"I dunno…he'll probably stay here tonight. You want me to ask him?"_ Sam paused before heaving a sigh and pulling the phone away from his ear. "She wants to talk to you," he said, holding the receiver out to his father. John took it, praying that he'd have the patience to deal with what was likely to be a big ordeal with his one and only daughter.

"Hey, Aubrey," he said tiredly.

"Daddy, when are you comin' back?" Aubrey said without preamble.

"I'm not sure, sweetheart—it depends on how well your brother's doing. Right now, he's still feeling pretty bad."

"But…you mean we gotta stay here with Pastor Jim all by ourselves?"

" 'Fraid so, baby. 'Cause I can't leave Dean to bring Sam back, and besides that, Dean's actually doing a lot better having Sam here."

"Well, can't you leave Sam there with Dean, and you come back and stay with us?" she asked pleadingly.

"No."

"Why not?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch enough to cause John to cringe.

"First of all, don't whine at me—I don't wanna hear it. Second of all, I'm not leaving a thirteen-year-old here all night by himself—there's too much potential for trouble."

"But he wouldn't be alone—Dean would be with him!" she pointed out hastily.

"Dean's in no shape to play watchdog over Sam. The answer is no, Aubrey, and I'm not gonna discuss it any further."

She fell silent, and as John waited for her to say something, he heard a telltale sniff followed by a shuddering sigh. _Shit._ Uncertain how to deal with tears, he did what he always did when confronted with emotional shit that he wasn't capable of handling—he bulldozed right over it.

"Look, I've gotta go—tell Pastor Jim to bring you two over in the morning, alright?"

"Okay," she whispered, hanging up the phone with a resounding _thunk_.

"You made her cry, didn't you?" Sam asked knowingly, and John turned a frown on his son, not at all pleased that he'd been eavesdropping.

"Shut it, Sam." With a sigh full of teenage angst, Sam turned back to the TV as John hung up the phone and went back to his chair.

"Look, do you have him covered for awhile if I try to catch some z's?" he asked the teenager, rubbing his face wearily.

"Yessir—I'm just watchin' TV. I won't go anywhere. Unless, you know, I have to piss or something… 'Sides, I think he'll sleep for awhile."

"Yeah? That's what the nurse said, right before he snuck outside to wait for _you_. So stay alert—I don't wanna wake up and find him gone again. If you're gonna stay here, you're gonna pull your weight."

"Yeah, Dad, I got it," Sam said with exasperation. "I'll keep an eye on him."

"Oh, and Sam?"

"Sir?"

"You disobey me again, your ass is mine, understand?"

"Yessir."

* * *

It was the sound of the door opening that pulled him out of a dreamless sleep, that had him reaching for a gun he didn't have. It was as his hand didn't find the gun he was searching for that he suddenly remembered where he was. _Hospital—no firearms allowed._ Despite the sleep, he was so tired it felt like his eyelids were glued together, but he forced them open anyway to see Jim standing in the doorway with a questioning look.

"Is it alright for us to come in, John?" Jim asked softly, eyeing the boys who were both asleep on Dean's bed, before turning back to face him. John glanced over as well, pleased to see that despite having fallen asleep, Sam had grasped a handful of Dean's hospital gown, guaranteeing that if Dean were to stir, Sam would know it.

"John?" Jim asked softly when John didn't initially respond.

"Ah, yeah, sorry. Come on in. Just keep it down," John replied, wiping his eyes in a vain attempt to push away his weariness, but he'd hardly uttered the words when Aubrey came running in, pushing past Jim as she raced to John.

"Daddy!" she squealed, hurling herself at him so fast that he hardly had time to lift his arms before she was latched onto him. Braden, following at a more sedate pace, settled for merely a smile at his father before quietly wandering over to the window, hopping up to crouch on the edge of the AC unit mounted under it so that he could look out over the hospital courtyard. _Thank God _he_ was quiet at least. _ But the damage, by then, had already been done, John saw, as Dean and Sam both began to stir.

"Shit."

"My apologies, John," Jim said with a remorseful look. "I _did_ talk to them about remaining quiet while we were here, but I'm afraid she's been quite…anxious… to see you."

"She kept you up all night, didn't she?" John asked with a knowing gaze as he allowed Aubrey to scramble onto his lap. Jim started to reply, but John could see the truth written all over the man's face, and the puffiness of Aubrey's face was enough to tell him that she'd likely spent most of the night sobbing.

"Damn, I'm sorry, Jim," he said regretfully, as Aubrey buried her face in the crook of his neck, clinging to him as though she feared he'd vanish if she let go. Catching sight of Sam's eyes open, John aimed a pointed glare at the thirteen-year-old. "And, this is why I ordered _you_ to stay behind, Samuel—thanks to you not following orders, your sister kept Jim up all night."

"I thought she was okay with it," Sam said heatedly.

"Yeah, well, you thought wrong. I'm just sorry you had to deal with it, Jim. I owe you."

"Think nothing of it, John. I'm a pastor—I deal with emotional distress on a regular basis. It's part of the job description."

John nodded his thanks, before turning back to Sam with a stern expression.

"Samuel, I believe you have something to say to Pastor Jim," he said tightly, his eyes narrowed with threatening promise if the boy didn't comply.

"Yessir," Sam said timidly, glancing over at Jim as though unsure of his reception after sneaking away from the older man the day before. "Um…I'm really sorry, Pastor Jim. But Dean needed me, and you wouldn't bring me, so I had to—"

"Samuel, I want you to _apologize_ for your screw-up, not try to cover your ass," John said with aggravation, annoyed that his son didn't seem to get it. _Boy scares the hell out of Jim by disappearin', and all he can think about is trying to rationalize his actions._

"Right…Well, I _am_ sorry, really," he said sincerely. "I didn't think you'd find out so soon, and I was gonna call, I swear. But then, I got here, and I sort of forgot, 'cause me and Dad started arguing about everything, and well…"

"Samuel," John murmured, his voice dropping into a growl as Sam continued.

"Dammit, I'm sorry, okay?" Sam said exasperatedly, giving his father a '_there, are you satisfied?_' look. He paused, but by the look on his face, John knew Sam was far from finished. _Oh hell, what's he gonna say, now, because ten to one the next thing out of his mouth is gonna piss me off._

"But, you know," Sam continued, looking back at Jim, "if you think about it, Pastor Jim, it wasn't really _you_ that I was disobeying—I mean, technically, you didn't _specifically_ say that I had to stay. You just said you couldn't disregard what Dad said," Sam went on logically, completely unaware that he was digging himself into a deeper hole by the minute. _Boy doesn't know when to quit while he's ahead. _

"Really, I was disobeying Dad, not you," he was saying. "So you see, if anybody was gonna be mad, it should be _him_," Sam said earnestly .

John could feel his blood pressure going up with every word, and he could tell that it would take very little to push him over the edge and into a yelling match with Sam. Apparently, his oldest son picked up on this fact as well, despite his fever and otherwise confused state-of-mind, because he blinked heavily before he reached over and shoved Sam's shoulder, his expression enough to tell Sam to shut up.

"Um…yeah, so…um…sorry, Pastor Jim," Sam finished meekly. Jim patted Sam's shoulder affectionately before turning his attention to Dean.

"How are you feeling, Dean?"

Dean replied with a half-hearted shrug before shifting his gaze to the TV, his eyes staring blankly at the screen. Jim aimed a confused look at John, but John just shook his head, unwilling to subject himself to the awkwardness of trying to explain Dean's reticence. _Time to divert attention._

"So, Aubrey, what did you and Braden do at Pastor Jim's?"

_Is it just me, or is Sam suddenly holding his breath?_

"Well, we was scared when we woke up the first time at Pastor Jim's, but Sam was there, so we was okay, I guess…we read a book with Pastor Jim, 'cept we didn't really read all of it, 'cause it was big, but I'm glad we didn't, 'cause it was weird…but it had really cool pictures in it, and Pastor Jim read some of 'em to us. Next time, though, I wanna pick the book, 'cause Bray don't pick good ones," she chattered, leaving John little room to respond with anything other than a nod. "Pastor Jim has a lots of books, Daddy," she went on cheerfully, "so he's gotta have at least _one _good one, don't you think?"

"I dunno, baby. I don't have an eight-year-old girl's taste in books," John replied with amusement. "So did Sam help look out for you while he was _actually there_?"

"Yep! We don't mind if Sam looks after us, 'cause he's real nice. He even played with us," she told him emphatically.

"Oh yeah? What did you guys play?" John asked, mildly curious, though mostly just interested in keeping the painful silence at bay. From the corner of his eye, John caught Sam staring at him with abject horror, his eyes wide with barely-disguised panic.

"Oh, you know—stuff," she said lightly, looking over at Sam with a mischievous grin before leaning back, settling comfortably against John's chest. _I get the feeling there's a real interesting story there, one that I'd no doubt find highly amusing…_ "But we still missed you a whole bunch, Daddy."

_Damn, this one's trouble—one sentence and she already has me feelin' guilty as hell over leavin' 'em behind. _Though Aubrey often spoke in the plural, answering for both herself and her brother more often than not, Braden seemed perfectly unaffected by John's overnight absence. John glanced at the little boy, still perched in the window, comfortably drawing designs on the window pane with his finger.

Aubrey turned her head to look at Dean, cocking her head questioningly as she looked at him with a sympathetic gaze.

"You still feelin' bad, Dean?"

"Yeah, baby," John answered when Dean, predictably, didn't respond . "He's still feelin' pretty bad."

"He got a fever?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. You should give him some Tylenol, Daddy," she said matter-of-factly. "That's what Mama gives us when we've got a fever."

"The docs are takin' care of it, Aub," John told her with a smile.

"Does that mean he don't have to stay tonight?"

"Sorry, sweetheart—Dean's gonna be stuck here for a few more days at least."

Aubrey turned a somber look on her oldest brother before she slipped off John's lap and went over to the bed, standing at Dean's side as Sam looked on.

"We wish you were better so you didn't hafta stay here no more, 'cause we really want Daddy to stay with us, and he won't so long as _you _gotta stay…but Pastor Jim said it wasn't right not to share, and you need Daddy more than us. So me and Bray thought about it, and we figure, you can keep him for now, and we'll wait our turn, even though we don't like it when he's gone."

John waited for Dean to do something, to shake his head or turn away at least, but the seventeen-year-old remained still, his gaze remaining fixed on the TV. It was as though all of the fight had gone out of the oldest boy, replaced by a lethargy that Dean either couldn't or wouldn't throw off. But the lack of response didn't seem to faze his sister, as she patted his arm sympathetically before abruptly turning to look at Sam.

"What're ya'll watchin', Sam?"

"Stupid rerun of _Gilligan's Island_," Sam answered with disgust. "Daytime television sucks out loud," he complained, Dean nodding vaguely in agreement.

"Me and Bray like _Gilligan, _though! Bray likes the Professor, 'cause he makes all those funny things out of coconuts!" she told him with a giggle, shifting closer to the bed. "Can I sit up there? I can't see the TV good…Pleeeeease, Sam," she asked him, and John couldn't stop the smirk from crossing his face as he heard the cajoling tone in her voice. _Better watch out, Sam—she's already got a grasp on how easily manipulated the male of the species can be._

John waited, wondering how the boys would respond. _Sam probably doesn't mind, but he's gonna wait to see how Dean feels about it before he answers. And Dean? Hmm, hard to say. If he responds at all, he'll no doubt reply with a resounding "NO." But whether or not he'll respond is the real question._

Sure enough, Sam looked to Dean first, trying to gauge his older brother's reaction, but when Dean's eyes remained blankly focused on the TV, most likely completely unaware of the question, Sam turned to his father.

"Dad, what do I do?"

"Just let her up there with you, son—if your brother is lucid enough to object, I'm sure he'll let you know. But be careful that she stays at the foot of the bed, away from any injuries or hardware connected to him."

With a happy smile, Aubrey carefully climbed onto the edge of the bed, surprisingly careful for an eight-year-old before settling cross-legged on the end, gazing up at the TV contentedly. John watched them for a moment, but when Dean remained still, John slowly relaxed. Glancing back at the window, John reassured himself that Braden was still occupied with whatever he was looking at before he slowly stood and approached Jim, who was standing close to the doorway.

"Were you able to find anything, Jim?" John asked softly, glancing over to make sure none of his children had heard.

"No, John, I'm sorry," Jim said with a sigh. "But, you didn't give me much to go on, I'm afraid."

"Dammit, Jim—there wasn't much to _give_ you!" John told him, trying to keep his voice low and his frustration contained. He raked a hand through his hair before releasing a deep breath. "There was hardly anything there, Jim—just traces of sulfur. What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"You'll just have to stay on guard, John," Jim said softly. "At least you know it's a demon—you can take precautions with that much."

"That's not enough, Jim! You know probably more than I do that there are hundreds of different types of demon—I need to know what the hell I'm dealing with, in case that demonic sonofabitch comes back. What's to say it won't come back, try for the twins?"

"Again, Daddy."

At the sound of Braden's softly-spoken words, John whipped around to see Braden standing directly behind him, staring up at him gravely.

"What?" he asked, looking down at the little boy with confusion. "What're you talkin' about?"

"You should've said, 'what's to say it won't come back, try for the twins _again_?'"

"Braden, what are you saying?" John asked, crouching down so that he was eye-to-eye with his youngest son, gripping Braden's shoulders as he stared at him, his eyes wide with incredulity.

"It came for me and Aubrey, I think. Mama got in the way," Braden told him, biting his lip guiltily.

"Why would you think that?"_ Hell, I guessed as much after seein' the house all torn up, but I didn't expect an eight-year-old to have figured it out..._

Braden shrugged, dropping his gaze to the floor where he stared at his feet. John looked back at Jim, but one glance was enough to tell him that the older man didn't know anything more than John did about Braden's revelation.

"You think it's likely to come back?" he asked, feeling like nine kinds of stupid for having to ask his eight-year-old's opinion about the supernatural.

"I dunno, Daddy. I'm not sure what kinda demon it was."

John was silent for a long moment, trying vainly to come to grips with everything that had happened in the last few days. _It feels like everything is hittin' me all at once. What the hell am I supposed to do? How do I handle all the shit that he's tellin' me? They sure as hell don't cover this in any of the parenting books—I can just see it now,"Chapter 10: How to Deal When Your Child Professes to Arcane Knowledge of the Demonic." Shit. _

"Alright, Braden," he finally said, dragging a hand over his mouth wearily before gesturing towards the bed. "Why don't you go watch Gilligan with your sister now?"

With a solemn nod, Braden turned and walked over to the bed, climbing up and squeezing onto the foot of the bed beside Aubrey wordlessly. John watched him for a long minute before standing, turning back to face Jim with a world-weary expression.

"Do you see what I was talkin' about when I told you he knows more than he should?" John murmured. "There's no way he should know the shit he does—his mother didn't know enough about it to have passed it on to him, and besides that, he says he doesn't know how he knows. Hell, Jim, he knew their mom was attacked by a demon before I ever said a word."

"He also seems to possess a fair grasp of Latin from what I saw," Jim said absently, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully as he pondered the little boy's strange behavior.

"What?" _This shit just gets better and better,_ John thought with growing aggravation.

"Oh, he translated a Latin inscription from one of my books, a rather complicated one at that," Jim told him matter-of-factly.

"What the hell, Jim? How?"

"Perhaps the children are Catholic," Jim offered. "Catholic schools are still known to teach Latin—"

"Hell, Jim, they're from the Bible Belt—that's Southern Baptist country down there. Besides that, their mother wasn't Catholic. There's no way they would have learned Latin in school."

"Well, I don't have any other explanation for it, I'm afraid."

"Braden?" John called, capturing the little boy's attention almost immediately.

"Sir?"

"How do you know Latin?"

"What's Latin, Daddy?"

_Are you shittin' me?_

"Latin, son—the stuff you translated from Pastor Jim's book earlier," he said, fighting to keep the growing exasperation out of his voice.

"Oh, is _that_ what it's called? Cool," he said absently, his eyes still on the TV.

"Answer the question, son—how do you know it?" John asked him, anxious for the boy to give him some damn answers.

"I dunno," he said with a shrug, obviously wanting to return his attention to the TV. More frustrated by the unanswered questions as Braden turned his full attention back to the TV, John threw his hands up and turned to Jim with a helpless expression.

"Have you ever heard of anything like this?!"

"No," Jim replied regretfully. "This isn't quite my area of expertise, I'm afraid."

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do, Jim?"

"I would suggest taking the boy to Missouri."

"What, you think he's psychic?"

"I'm not really qualified to say, John. But if he has a 'gift' that is somehow responsible for the arcane and unusual knowledge he possesses, then perhaps she can give you a much needed explanation for it, or at the very least, some insight."

"Hell, Jim, that idea is so apparent, I'm embarrassed I didn't think of it myself," John said, shaking his head ruefully.

"Yes, well, you're tired, my friend, and you've had a lot on your mind."

"I just want answers, Jim—I feel like I'm fumblin' around in the dark and can't tell my ass from a hole in the ground."

"John—no good can come of you giving in to the urge to indulge your obsessive drive for answers. Right now, you need to focus on your children. You're in a waiting game until Dean is well enough to travel, so you might as well let the matter go until then," Jim said wisely.

"Probably. But it's easier said than done." He sighed once more, rubbing at his eyes as though the action would somehow help. "Damn, I'm tired, Jim."

"Listen, why don't you take your children for some lunch, and I'll stay here with Dean until you return. For that matter, go back to my house and get some sleep. You're no good to Dean if you're exhausted and unable to help him."

_Damn, some sleep sounds good. But, hell, I've put Jim out enough as it is—he's already havin' to look after my emotional wreck of an eight-year-old daughter and her potentially psychic twin brother, as well as deal with my smart-ass thirteen-year-old and my injured and uncommunicative seventeen-year-old. And of course, I'm no joy to be around, irritable as hell and a pain-in-the-ass grouch. Hell, we're just a barrel of fun and ease, aren't we?_

"Stop thinking so much, John," Jim broke in, obviously sensing John's inner reluctance, " I'm sure Dean will sleep while you're gone, but even if he does awaken, he knows me well enough not to panic. Besides, I can spend the peace and quiet working on some last few points for Sunday's sermon. There are some key passages that I think you'd find quite meaningful to our way of life."

"I would, huh?" John asked noncommittally.

"Good for the soul, as I'm sure you'll agree after you hear them on Sunday," Jim said pointedly.

_Shit. I walked right into that one. _

"Uh, yeah…look, Jim," John began, trying to ease the conversation away from Sunday Church Services and back to the matter at hand, but Jim held up a hand, cutting him off.

"No more arguing, John—take Sam and the twins and go on now. I'll expect you back around seven this evening," Jim told him, walking away to settle into the vacated chair at Dean's bedside.

"Yeah, alright," John mumbled, realizing there was really nothing he could do except do what Jim suggested. "Sam, Aubrey, Braden—let's go."

"But, Dad," Sam started, but John wasn't in the mood to indulge the young teenager's inclination to argue.

"We're going to eat, and then headin' back to Jim's for a bit. I'm tired and irritable as hell, Sam, so move your ass and don't argue with me," he told Sam, his eyes daring the thirteen-year-old to argue. _Looks like he's got some sense after all, _he thought when Sam slid off the bed with a sigh as John started for the bed to help the twins down.

"You mind if I look through some of your books while we're at your place?" John asked, lifting Braden down before reaching down for Aubrey.

"If you think it will help," Jim said with a sigh, obviously well aware that sleep wasn't first on John's list of priorities.

Wordlessly, John lifted Aubrey into his arms, not looking at Jim as he bent to set Aubrey on her feet. But she clung to him, obviously not wanting to be put down, and as much as John wanted to pry her hands away and make her walk, something about the way she tucked her head in the hollow of his neck pulled at John's heartstrings, and he knew he couldn't do it.

"I know you looked, Jim, but I just need to look for myself," John murmured apologetically, looking back at Jim helplessly. "I've gotta find out what's going on here."

"I hope you find the answers you're looking for, John," Jim replied softly, staring back at him with sympathetic eyes.

"So do I, Jim," John said, sighing wearily as he shifted Aubrey's weight to one arm, using the other to usher Braden towards the door, Sam right behind him. "So do I."

But John had a feeling that things wouldn't be that simple._ Something tells me I'm gonna wind up with no more answers than I had before I started._ _But that's hardly news--after all, my life is one unanswered question after another. Why should this time be any different?_

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed—keep 'em coming!

**Bunty**: Thanks for the review! Sorry the Barbies creeped you out—I think you're safe from future Barbie scenes, at least for awhile!

**Hero Lilly**: Thanks for the wonderful compliment on my last chapter! I'm really glad to hear you're enjoying the story, and it's good to know that someone checks my profile page—haha! I suppose I should make that page a bit more interesting, but I get so bored with it. But as long as I post my story update progress, that's good enough for now, right? Sorry you had to wait a bit longer than you'd hoped for this chapter, but hopefully, it was worth the wait—let me know what you thought!

**Poppyflake**: Every brother should have to play Barbies with his little sister at least once in his lifetime—lol! Braden, as you can see, has a lot of experience with this. Anyways, thanks for reviewing—I appreciate it! What did you think of this one?

**zuimar**: I was so glad to hear that you loved the last chapter! Yeah, I hate to make everyone wait so long between updates, but between the time it takes me to write and the time it takes to send chapters to the beta and get them back in time to change any mistakes, it's just more than I can do in just a week. The only reason the first 8 chapters were posted so quickly was because I already had them written before I ever posted the story. Oh well, I'm glad you stick with me, despite the wait. Thanks for the support!

**cozmikfaerie**: So what did you think of this one? It was one of the harder chapters to write, and I was a bit worried about how well I pulled off Dean's inability/refusal to speak. As far as the little Winchesters, I work with children (ages 6-9) at work every weekday, so I come up with plenty of fodder for my fic. As for their interactions…well, I'm flying by the seat of my pants sometimes, as I don't have brothers, and I'm not really around thirteen or seventeen-year-olds much. I'm doing a lot of guess work here, but I guess it's working out okay. Glad you enjoy! Thanks, as always, for reviewing!

**nightingale**: Aw, you write such wonderfully nice, long reviews! I was glad to hear that you check my profile page—I sometimes feel like I'm wasting my time messing with it, so it's good to know that people look at it from time to time—lol! As far as the point-of-view changes go, I feel like trying to tell the entire story from one view would be too limiting. This way, I get to play around with story angles, and it leaves a bit of mystery, as we don't necessarily know why another character responds a certain way to something at a given moment. It's interesting that you don't like Sam's perspective as much, because I'm almost the opposite—I absolutely love Dean, but I don't write from his perspective as often because I like his motivations to be a mystery. It's more fun for me if everyone else sees him and tries to figure out what's going on in his head. You're likely to see more John chapters than Dean, but I try to even it out a bit. I'm actually working on Chapter 14 from Braden's perspective, the first I've done from either of the twins' perspectives. We'll see how that goes… At this point (it's hard to say this soon), I'm thinking Chapter 15 will shift back to Dean. But I hope this chapter provided the John/Dean interaction you were craving! It was interesting that you pointed out the shift in the characters' roles in the family dynamic—I didn't really consciously think about it, so it's neat that you noticed that. BTW, I so didn't particularly notice any mistakes in your English—never would have known you weren't a native speaker if you hadn't pointed it out to me! What's your native language? Anyways, thanks for the lovely review—would love to hear what you thought about this chapter!


	14. A Strange Familiarity

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks, mimishell and CagedTroll for reading over this chapter! Despite my worries, I actually did okay with this chapter, as neither one of you found anything hugely problematic that needed to be changed. Only minimal changes were necessary—wahoo! Anyways, thanks for reading over it for me!

Chapter 14—A Strange Familiarity

He sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor of Pastor Jim's study, surrounded by books, Winchesters, and a sense of contentment. No one spoke, but the quiet wasn't bad, so he was okay with it. With his sketchpad sitting on his lap, Braden let his hand move across the page without thought, his mind drifting as his pencil moved across the paper, seemingly of its own accord. That's how it was sometimes, his fingers feeling like they belonged to someone else. _It's weird sometimes, but it's not too bad—they always come back. _

"Dammit!"

Braden's hand stopped moving, and suddenly, his mind snapped back into awareness as he lifted his head to look up at his father, who sat at Pastor Jim's desk with a stack of books that he was steadily working his way through. John tossed the book he held aside, frustration tightening his jaw and stiffening his shoulders as he rubbed at the kinks in his neck.

"What's wrong, Dad?" Sam asked, looking up from where he was slouched on the sofa Pastor Jim kept in the room, flipping through a book not quite as thoroughly, distracted as he was by the song playing through the headphones of the Walkman resting on his chest.

"What's wrong is that I'm not finding a damn thing!" John said angrily. "I'm no closer to finding out what took Elaine than I was before I started!"

"Man, keep it down, would ya'?" Sam said, frowning at John before glancing towards the far end of the room. Braden and his father both followed Sam's gaze to where Aubrey was laying sprawled across the carpet, luckily still asleep. Wordlessly, Braden watched his father try to breathe slowly through his mouth before knocking the stack of books to the floor with one swipe of his hand.

_Daddy's not real good at that 'take a deep breath and calm down' stuff, I guess._

"C'mon, Dad, take it easy," Sam told him, sitting up and looking over at John with mild disapproval. "You're getting all bent out of shape for nothing—we'll find somethin'. We just gotta keep looking, that's all," he went on, for once trying to ease John down instead of antagonize him. But the older man was just warming up.

"Well maybe we'd actually be getting somewhere if you'd take off the damn headphones and actually contribute instead of sittin' on your ass listenin' to that shit and not doing what I need you to do," their father said angrily.

"What the hell, Dad? Just 'cause I don't have a stick up my ass about it doesn't mean I'm not helpin'!"

"You could have fooled me—you've hardly turned the page since you sat down! I might as well do it myself!"

"Why don't you then? If you don't want my help, I'm sure I could find something better to do than take shit from you for tryin'!"

"One more smart-ass remark, and you're gonna regret it," John said, his voice dropping threateningly.

"Well, you started it," Braden heard his older brother mumble angrily.

_Sam's right. Daddy _did_ start it…but Sam probly shouldn't tell him that—that'd probly just make him madder. Daddy gets cranky when he's tired…_

"You wanna repeat that?" John was asking Sam, his eyes narrowed, and Braden had a feeling he'd heard Sam as clearly as Braden himself had.

"No sir," Sam mumbled, looking away.

"That's what I thought," John told him coolly. "Don't talk shit to me, or anyone else, if you're not willing to stand by what you say," he finished. Braden nodded thoughtfully in agreement as his father gave Sam 'the Look' before sitting back in his chair with a tired sigh. _Mama had a look like that, too, when me or Aubby got in trouble…I wonder where mommies and daddies learn it…_

"Well why do you always have to start shit? I wasn't doing anything," Sam complained, seeming to forget that their father was just spoiling for a fight.

"That's exactly my point—you weren't doing anything! I need some damn answers, Samuel, and you sittin' here pissin' around is a waste of time!"

"I'm readin' the damn book, Dad! So what if I'm listenin' to music while I do it? Some of us can do more than one thing at a time, you know—it's called multitasking!"

"Well, if you're so damn clever, tell me, what do you call it when my hand beats your rear-end for being a smart-ass?"

_Uh-oh, Sam—better not say anything else,_ Braden thought as he watched his brother expectantly.

But as he waited to see Sam's response, a familiar, strange feeling trickled over him, the argument between Sam and John taking on a far-away sound, like he was listening from a distance with his hands covering his ears.

Without a word, he felt himself slowly stand, his feet moving soundlessly to the bookshelves, his hand reaching up, his fingers running across the spines of the books, his eyes scanning the titles but not really seeing them.

_Where where where…can't find it, can't find it…where is it…not here, not here…keep looking…where where ….there._

Suddenly, his fingers stopped on a particular title, and he could feel his other hand come up as they took a firm grip on the large book and pulled it off the shelf. _This is the one._ The weird feeling disappeared as quickly as it came, and the book fell from his hands. He found himself staring down at the book in confusion, not really certain how it came to be lying on the floor in front of him.

_Try this one._

After a moment's consideration, he shrugged and bent down to pick it up before turning to his father.

"Daddy?" he asked, interrupting the argument that was still in full-swing between his father and his brother.

"What?!" John snarled, whirling around to face Braden with a heated expression on his face. Braden didn't answer, merely staring up at his father in wait. Within a few seconds, John's face cleared, the anger melting away to be replaced with weariness as he rubbed a tired hand over his face. "I'm sorry, son—I didn't mean to bite your head off there," he said with a rueful shake of his head.

"You finished bein' mad at Sam, now? 'Cause if you're not, I can wait," Braden said easily. John's eyes narrowed on the eight-year-old, the anger ready to spill onto his youngest before he seemed to realize that Braden was sincerely asking rather than trying his own hand at being a smart aleck. Ignoring the question, John settled back in his chair once again, staring enigmatically back at Braden.

"What is it?"

Braden walked toward his father with a solemn expression, the book held tightly to his chest as he approached the oldest Winchester.

"Here, try this one," Braden said, pushing the book onto his father's lap, biting his lip hopefully as he watched John look down at the book with a critical eye. "I got a good feelin' about it, Daddy."

"Maybe later, son," John said with a weary sigh. "My vision's blurrin' a bit—I'm just too damn tired to read the words anymore."

"Oh. Okay. I'll just hold on to it for ya', 'til you're not tired no more," Braden told him softly, picking the book back up and cradling it to his chest before going back to his place on the carpet. _I don't think he meant it when he said he'd maybe look later…mommies and daddies say 'maybe' sometimes, but they don't really mean it. 'Maybe' means 'probly not.' _Dropping back down to the floor with a sigh, Braden picked up his sketchbook, frowning down at the only partially finished design taking shape there. _What was this one 'posed to be, again? I can't 'member…_

After a moment's consideration, he shrugged and flipped to a clean page, leaning forward to pick up his pencil before casting a quick look at his sister to make sure she was alright. _'m glad Daddy and Sam didn't wake her up—she's real tired. _With their father and Sam both gone the night before, Aubrey had barely slept, terrified because her only remaining parent was out of her sight. It made Braden feel bad. _She didn't used to be that way…she used to hardly ever cry—only when she was sad. Now she cries a lot, and she's scared all the time._ _Mama's gone, and Aubrey's not the same as she used to be,_ he thought sadly.It was just one more reason in a long list of reasons why Braden fully intended to follow in his father's footsteps. _When I get bigger, I'm gonna hunt bad things down with Daddy._

"You gonna go lay down for awhile, Dad?" he heard Sam ask softly, anger forgotten in a rare moment of sympathy for the old man.

"Nah, we gotta get back to the hospital in a couple of hours—if I lay down now, I'm not gonna be able to get back up."

"But, Dad, you're so tired…"

"Sam, Jim needs us back there at seven, so that he can get the twins back here at a decent time. So long as Dean is able to sleep through the night, I can catch up on _my_ sleep there tonight."

"Can me and Aubrey stay at the hospital, too, Daddy?" Braden asked softly, staring up at his father with hopeful eyes.

"No, Braden. You two will stay here with Pastor Jim again tonight," John told him, rubbing his face tiredly without looking at his youngest son.

"What about Sam?"

"Sam's gonna stay with me and Dean—your brother does better when Sam's there, and I need him back on his feet sooner rather than later."

"Aubrey's gonna cry again, Daddy."

"Well, I'm afraid she's gonna have to deal with it, son," John said, not unkindly.

"She's scared, though…you don't know us real well, but you're our daddy. We don't got Mama anymore, and Aubby's scared you're gonna disappear and not come back, too. If you're gone, then we don't got a mama _or_ a daddy anymore."

"Son, I get that she's scared. Believe me, I know what it's like to worry about your family. But there are gonna be times when I've gotta leave you two, sometimes with a friend of mine, like Jim, or sometimes with your brothers. I don't like to do it, but what I do is dangerous, and I can't always take all of you with me."

"Yeah, I know," Braden said softly. But it hurt him when his sister cried.

"Maybe you could talk to her," John suggested, "see if you can bring her around, make her understand that so she doesn't get so upset when I have to leave."

"Okay…I'll try." _But it won't work. Aubrey wants Mama. But Mama's gone—Daddy is the only one left. She wants Daddy, not me or Sam or Dean._

John stood up with a weary sigh, heading for the duffel bag he'd dropped in the corner. Braden watched him curiously, hoping for a peek at what was inside the bag that John had told him and Aubrey not to touch. _"You touch this bag, or anything inside it, and you can bet your ass you'll get the mother of all spankings, understand?"_ he'd said to the twins, and neither doubted that he meant it.

"Daddy, whatcha got in that bag?" he asked. John glanced up at him as he dropped the duffel onto the top of Jim's desk and began to unzip it.

"C'mere, I'll show you," John said gruffly.

Tossing the sketchpad and pencil aside, Braden jumped to his feet and ran over to his father, stretching onto his tiptoes to try and see into the bag. John nudged him back with his hip before reaching inside the bag and lifting out a shotgun.

"Wow," Braden whispered, his eyes widening with excited glee as his father placed the shotgun on the desk and went to pull out another. A rifle came next, followed by various handguns, and Braden wanted nothing more than to touch one, his eyes drawn instantly to the rifle. Only his father's words of warning from before stayed his hand. But he still wanted to touch it.

Though he couldn't recall a time when he'd ever held one, it seemed as though he knew the weight of a gun in his hands. He looked down at his hands curiously, frowning at the smallness of them. _My hands are too small—how'm I s'posed to hold the big guns with these? Hmmm…Daddy'll know what to do,_ he thought confidently.

"Can I hold one, Daddy?"

"You ever held one before?"

"Um…" Braden settled for a shrug, and John seemed to accept that.

"Alright, first lesson—always assume that it's loaded, so don't point it at anybody, and keep your fingers off the trigger unless you're about to shoot. Understand?"

"Yessir. I know what to do," Braden assured him, not really certain how he knew, but confident nevertheless. _I can shoot—I know I can._

"This isn't like the movies, son—learning to shoot is a skill like any other. It takes practice, and there are a lot of things to learn, like how to load it, clean it, aim it..."

"Can I hold it now?" Braden asked, interrupting impatiently as he danced on his feet excitedly.

John frowned down at him before glancing over at Sam, who'd shoved aside his book and was no longer even pretending to search through it, his attention solely focused on the Walkman.

"Sam."

Sam looked up as John lifted the duffel and hung it over his shoulder and picked up the shotgun and the rifle.

"Stay here with your sister. I'm gonna take Braden out, maybe shoot a few rounds," John said curtly. "I'm leaving these here," John told him, nodding at the handguns still sitting on the desk. "Don't leave Aubrey alone, understand? You watch her, and you keep her away from these."

"Yessir."

Hurrying along as John led the way into Pastor Jim's backyard, Braden couldn't contain his excitement, a grin on his face and a hop in his step as he followed his father, who began to lecture as they walked.

"First rule: the second you pick up a gun, _always_ assume it's loaded. People get killed messin' around with guns, and the first thing they say is 'I didn't know it was loaded.' Only a complete moron plays around with a weapon with the dumb-ass assumption that it's not loaded. In my rule book, the gun is always loaded."

"Okay." _That's the best way to have it. A firearm should always be loaded. _

"Second rule: _Always _assume that the safety is off. When you're out in the field, going up against something that's killing people, you don't have time to mess around with a damn safety. For that reason, I don't usually use the safety—if I hand you a gun, know that it's loaded and ready to fire. You get me?"

"Yessir."

Crossing into the field that lined Pastor Jim's backyard, John didn't stop until they reached the edge of the woods. Dropping the duffel onto the ground, he reached inside and pulled out a small can of bright red spray-paint. Walking about ten yards away, he spray-painted a rough bulls-eye on one of the trees.

"Third rule: only point a gun when you have a target," he called back over his shoulder. "If you don't have a target, the gun should be pointed at the ground. If you don't know what the hell you're shooting at, don't pull the trigger—that's how innocent people get shot and killed." Walking back, he dropped the spray-paint back in the bag and knelt, pulling out boxes of ammunition, opening them up before laying the rifle and the shotgun out on the ground beside him. Braden crouched down beside his father, smiling down at the two guns fondly.

_Beautiful. Remarkable piece of craftsmanship, isn't she?_

"I like this one, Daddy," he said, pointing at the rifle with an excited grin.

"You ought to—that's a Winchester rifle, son. Model 70. Used it when I was in the Corp."

"What's the Corp?" Braden asked, casting a quick glance up at the older man.

"The Marines, son," John said, shaking his head ruefully. "I can see you've got a lot to learn."

"That's the one I wanna shoot," Braden said resolutely.

"Why don't we just work on holdin' it today? I want you to get the feel of it before I start showing you how to shoot."

"I know how," Braden told him confidently, his gaze steady with absolute assurance.

"Oh yeah? How is that, son? Thought you said you'd never held one before," John asked, quirking an eyebrow at him, the hint of a smile on his face.

"I dunno, I just do. I betcha I can do it," Braden told him, a mischievous gleam in his eye as he stared back at his father daringly. "I bet I can even load it!"

"Can you put your money where your mouth is?" John asked, grinning down at his son with a lighthearted expression on his face.

"Yep. If I can load it the right way, then you gotta let me shoot."

"And if you can't, what do I get?"

"Um…" Braden frowned, pondering the issue, his eyes on the ground for a long moment, before his shoulders slumped and he looked back at his father with a helpless shrug. "It's kinda not real fair, Daddy—I don't got no money…and I don't got anything else to give you…"

_Don't guess he's gonna want to bet now,_ Braden thought sadly, his shoulders slumping at the thought. _And I really wanted to shoot it…_

"Alright, son—even though it's a shitty bet, you're on."

Braden grinned up at John before reaching immediately for the .458 Winchester Magnum rounds that he just _knew_ went with the rifle. He didn't bother looking up to make sure he was right as he reached reverently for the rifle, lifting it with a grunt, careful not to point it at his father. He studied the big rifle for a long moment, frowning as he examined the various parts. _Something's missin'. _

"They sure don't make 'em like they used to, Daddy," he said finally, shaking his head ruefully.

"What do you mean?"

"It don't have the lever on it," Braden told him, not even really sure what he was talking about, but certain that he was right nevertheless.

"That's because it's a bolt-action, son," John said.

_They've no respect for the old ways anymore. _

"Oh. Sorta makes you miss the good ole' days, don't it?" John looked down at Braden, a strange expression on his face, as though he didn't know what to make of the little boy. "What's wrong?"

"Just tryin' to figure out where you would have seen a lever-action rifle—they're a bit harder to come by, and your mom never struck me as the type of woman who'd have a lot of guns layin' around."

"Yeah, Mama didn't have any guns. But I wish she had, though…" he said softly. _Then maybe that demon wouldn'a gotten her. I bet I coulda kept her safe._ Not wanting to think about it, Braden shook his head and shifted his grip on the rifle, his small hand going instinctively to the bolt on the side of the barrel. Still feeling as if his fingers were strangely small, he awkwardly slid the round into the chamber before sliding the bolt, shoving it forward none too gently.

"Sorry—I'm a little rusty, Daddy."

"That's…alright…" John said slowly.

"So can I shoot? I did it—I loaded it."

"Well…a deal's a deal, son." John moved around, coming to stand behind Braden, reaching out a hand to help support the rifle as Braden jumped to his feet excitedly.

With a pleased laugh, Braden hefted the now-loaded rifle into his hands, relishing the strangely familiar feel of the stock pressing into his shoulder in just the right place. _Stock goes in that squishy place between my shoulder and my chest…just there…don't want bruises. _But as his arms strained to support the weight of the rifle, he found himself frowning when he saw that he couldn't hold the barrel steady. _Sure is heavy, though… How'm I gonna shoot straight if I can't hold it?_

"Why don't I get you somethin' a little smaller to shoot with this time?" John offered with a sympathetic smile.

Braden didn't answer, instead lowering the gun and gazing at his surroundings with narrowed eyes. His gaze lit upon a rotted-out stump, and with a pleased smile, Braden carefully carried the heavy rifle over to the stump, paying no attention to his father as he propped the barrel up on the stump and knelt down behind it. His eyes fixed on the sight as he began to line up the target without a word.

_Don't get too eager. Line up the sight with the target, and don't jerk the trigger. A gentle squeeze will do._

"Alright, son, now you'll want to line up the—"

"I know how," Braden murmured, not really sure how he knew, but certain of it nevertheless. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before he let his finger drop to the trigger and slowly squeeze. The rifle went off with a deafening bang, throwing Braden backward with the force so that he landed on his rear-end with a sheepish expression.

"Well, I'll be damned, son—you hit the target," John said with a proud smile. Braden looked over at the tree, only to shake his head ruefully as he climbed to his feet.

_Off just a bit…maybe I should—_

A familiar sensation swept over him, leaving Braden feeling disconnected and weighed down.

"Sure kicks like a mule, doesn't she?" he heard himself say as he pulled the bolt back to release the shell. "Misjudged that one—wasn't expecting the recoil. Another shot or two, and I should be able to account for that, I think." His head lifted to see John staring down at him with barely disguised disbelief.

"Something wrong?" Braden asked nonchalantly as he began to load another round into the chamber.

"Uh…no. No, I guess not," John said gruffly, clearing his throat uncomfortably while staring down at the little boy with an uneasy expression.

_Odd fellow._

Braden found himself smiling in amusement as the thought echoed in his mind. Kicking aside the discarded shell, he knelt once more, determined to hit the center of the target despite his small stature.

"So, Braden," he heard John saying, "can your sister shoot?"

"No, I don't imagine so," Braden replied, directing his attention to the target and dismissing John's desire to talk. The rifle felt different this time, more like an extension of his arm as he lined up the sight and set himself. A gentle squeeze of the trigger was all it took, and this time, he remained upright as the shot slammed into the center of the target. Everything suddenly snapped back into sharp focus, and Braden glanced up at his father in confusion.

"Did I hit it, Daddy?"

"Uh, yeah," John said, staring down at him with a strange look. "How the hell…"

"What's wrong? Did I do it wrong?"

"No, it was a damn near perfect shot. And that's what worries me," John told him gruffly. "Damn, I thought a little shooting time would clear my head a bit, but instead, I've only got more questions."

"Are you mad at me?" Braden asked worriedly, the gun falling from his hands to land on the ground with a thud.

"No, I'm not mad, son. It's just…I'm standing here, trying to figure out what the hell is going on with you, and I don't have a damn clue. And that scares the hell outta me."

Braden looked down at himself, inspecting his arms, legs, chest, and stomach before frowning back at his father.

"Everything looks okay to me, Daddy. I look the same as always."

"Forget about it," John said tersely. "We might as well head on in—the rifle needs to be cleaned, and we've gotta get back to the hospital soon." John knelt, picking up the discarded shells and shoving them into his pocket before gently placing the weapons back in the duffel, shouldering it as he began the walk back to the house. Braden stared after him for a moment, fighting a sudden urge to cry as he watched his father walk away.

_Why does Daddy keep lookin' at me funny? Is somethin' wrong with me? _His chin trembled, his throat tightening as he tried so swallow past the lump that seemed to have lodged there.

_It's alright. He'll understand one day._

A sense of warmth filled him, the worry vanishing from his mind almost as quickly as it had come.

_Okay._

With a carefree shrug, Braden broke into a run, hurrying to catch up to his father. Coming alongside John, he slowed, trying to lengthen his stride so that he could walk beside his father. John glanced down at him, and Braden smiled, happy when the look of suspicion faded from John's face to be replaced with a look of affection. With a shake of his head and a smile, John ruffled Braden's hair before placing his hand around Braden's shoulders, pulling him close for a one-armed hug as they continued their walk back to the house. And for just a little while, Braden could pretend that things were normal, that they were a dad and his kid walking back to their house, with a mom and brothers and sisters, a really cool dog, and a hamster all waiting inside. _That would be really nice…we'd be a real family—Daddy wouldn't look at me funny, and Dean wouldn't be mad anymore, and Aubby would be happy again, and Sam wouldn't fight with Daddy, and Mama would still be here, and she'd take care of all of us, and me and Aubby would take really good care of our dog and our hamster. We'd be a family, like everybody else, and it would be good. _He leaned into his father's embrace as they walked back, trying very hard to ignore the words echoing in his mind.

_Wishful thinking. _

* * *

It didn't take his father long to break the rifle down, clean it, and place it back in the bag, fully assembled and ready to go.

"Alright, let's get moving. Braden, are you gonna take all of that stuff to the hospital with us?" he asked, nodding at the sketchpad, colored pencils, and crayons that Braden had spread out across the carpet.

"But I thought you said they weren't stayin'," Sam broke in before Braden could answer, eyeing their father in confusion.

"Yeah, well, Jim might decide to stick around a little longer before he brings the twins back here. If that's the case, taking their backpacks will give them something to do until he's ready to go. Braden, decide what you're gonna do, because if you're gonna take all of that shit, you need to pack it up fast. Aubrey—up and at 'em—get your backpack," John continued, nudging Aubrey gently with his foot to wake her up before turning to Sam. "Sam, throw a change of clothes into your bag—you can shower at the hospital."

Braden watched with a smile as Sam haphazardly crammed a wrinkled set of clothes into his backpack along with a few of Dean's tapes, the Walkman, and a few choice books before the little boy's gaze was drawn once again to his father. The oldest Winchester was skimming the contents of the pile of books he'd knocked over earlier. As he stacked them back up, he'd occasionally stuff one into a smaller duffel to take with him to the hospital.

_He won't find anything in those._

"Bray! Do you know where my bag is? I can't find it!" He turned to see Aubrey crawling on her hands and knees as she searched under furniture for her bag.

"It's behind the couch in the other room," Braden told her, turning back to his father only to see him staring back at him pointedly.

"Braden, get a move on—we don't have time for you to stand around. Now do like I told you and put that stuff away—even if you're not taking it all with you, you're not leaving a big mess for Jim to deal with when he gets back."

With a nod, Braden turned back to his own things, dropping to his knees to gather up the wayward colored pencils and crayons that had rolled away from him. As he slid the last ones into their respective boxes and reached for his sketchpad, his eye caught on the book he'd found, forgotten on the floor where he'd dropped it hours before.

_Take it._

_But it's Pastor Jim's…I'm not s'posed to take things that aren't mine—that's stealing,_ he thought worriedly, biting his lip as he fretted over what to do. _But it's _important_…what do I do? I know! I can tell Daddy he forgot it!_

_Best not risk that he'll refuse. Take it. _

_But stealing's wrong…_

_It's only for a bit. The pastor will get it back._

_I guess it's not stealing if I give it back. And Daddy's taking some of Pastor Jim's other books, so I guess it's okay._

Braden spared another second to think about it before he reached out and grabbed the book, shoving it into his backpack before zipping the bag up and tugging the straps onto his shoulders.

_I'll take it with me, and _I'll _put it in Daddy's bag. _

With a satisfied smile, Braden waited patiently for his sister to fetch her bag before racing her to the car, the two of them laughing happily as they tagged the car simultaneously. He opened the door with a grin, shoving his sister in ahead of him before he closed the door behind them. Sam followed a moment later, slinging his backpack into the backseat only a minute before their father did the same, the two of them sliding into the front seat. As John's bag settled next to Sam's on the seat, Braden glanced at it out of the corner of his eye, his gaze narrowing speculatively.

_Now is good,_ he thought, his hand beginning to reach for his backpack_._

_No, wait. Just another minute—he's not quite settled yet._

Braden waited for his father to start the car and pull onto the road before he slowly unzipped his bag and pulled out the book, his eyes watching John to make sure the older man wasn't looking his way. Nudging Aubrey, he sent a pointed look at their dad before looking back at her. She nodded, and he smiled as she leaned forward and began to talk to their father, her small frame propped up on the back of the front seat, effectively blocking Braden from view. As she chattered, Braden opened John's bag, slipping the book inside and zipping it closed once more, his father never once noticing.

_There, I did it!_

_It's done now. _

* * *

A/N: Please note that this chapter is not intended to suggest that I condone the idea of giving children easy access to firearms. I tend to be of the mind that parents should keep household firearms safely locked away from their children. But for a man like John, who has made guns an integral part of his nomadic lifestyle, having guns and not teaching your children how to handle them safely would, I think, be inviting disaster. So I decided that in this case, John letting Braden handle a weapon would be entirely reasonable. Ok, that and teaching his son to handle a weapon just seems like something John Winchester would do. Oh, and BTW, my knowledge of larger weapons (rifles, for examples) is a bit sketchy, so I did the best I could with a little bit of help from my father and a few websites, but if there are any glaring mistakes, just chalk it up to poetic license. Anyways, hope ya'll enjoyed the chapter—let me know what you think! Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

**elf00**: Thanks so much for reviewing! Glad to hear you think the story is great!

**I'mcalledZorro**: Thanks for sending a review—yeah, I'm glad you liked the Southern Baptist line. I'm from South Carolina, so I know this bit for a fact. Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as the last! As always, it was great to hear from you!

**funkyhigh**: What a lovely compliment you sent me—I try really hard to have Sam and Dean act like brothers really would. Of course, it's rather tricky when you consider that I'm one of two girls in my family. I have male cousins, but it's not quite the same, especially when you're looking on from the outside. Anyways, the fact that you find my teen'Chesters believable made me very happy—thanks so much for reviewing!

**zuimar**: Your last review was so touching! It was nice of you to be so understanding about the length of time between updates. I hated having such a long gap between chapters, but it just takes more time 

than I can reasonably do in one week. As for this chapter, it was definitely a challenge—I don't want to give too much away about Braden this early in the game, but I wanted to drop a few more tidbits in to make things interesting. Anyways, hope you liked it! Thanks so much for taking the time to review!

**Hero Lilly**: Glad you enjoyed the last chapter! I try to write my scenes in a way that people can get a visual picture the same way I do. I'm glad to know that it seems to be working—I had a great picture in my head of the four Winchester siblings on the bed myself—the moment was too cute an opportunity to leave out. Hope you liked this chapter!

**Poppyflake**: Thanks so much for reviewing for me, as always! And yeah, Dean definitely isn't dealing well—he's in shut-down mode as of right now, but don't worry—he's going to start coming to grips with things soon. And as for John, I see him as a man who definitely loves his children, but isn't always so understanding of them. But in this case, he's trying very hard to be there for Dean, because he knows he screwed up. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

**nightingale**: You write such long, wonderful reviews—thank you for that! I was so sad to hear that Aubrey was coming across as annoying and bratty—I'm taking steps now to amend that—I tried to filter in explanations for her behavior in this chapter, so let me know how I did, okay? I love Aubrey! She definitely has issues (what Winchester doesn't?), but I love her anyway! At least she's not a Mary-Sue, though—that's definitely good to know! Anyway, I'm glad you liked the angsty, silent Dean—one of my betas didn't like it quite so much, but I liked it too much to change it! LOL! As far as point-of-view, the next chapter will likely be either Sam's or John's, as I have a scene in mind that I don't want told from Dean's view (don't worry, though—Dean won't be absent in the next chapter). However, I'll do my best to get another Dean one in soon. I know this chapter was lacking in Dean moments, but I needed it as a sort of bridge chapter, one that provided a few more insights into Braden. No plans to stop writing this chapter any time soon, so continue to stick around!

German, huh? I took one year of German, and I pretty much sucked at it—I do okay with vocabulary, but as far as which case to use at any given moment, I did a lot of guesswork. Lucky for me, if I ever need any German translations, one of my betas is German, and now I have you as well!


	15. Heavy Burdens to Bear

A/N: Please note, the language in this chapter is slightly rougher than usual—just wanted to warn everyone. Also, I'm sorry for the longer-than-usual delay. I had some slight concerns about the timing of this chapter—I was worried I'd have to switch this chapter with Chapter 16, which I've started but not finished. Fortunately, one of my betas took a look at it and assured me that we were okay, so here you have it! Thanks mimishell and CagedTroll for all your help!

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 15: Heavy Burdens to Bear

Weariness dragged at John as he led the way to Dean's hospital room. Though John had managed to get the four of them to the hospital with a half-hour to spare, he had lost a few minutes when the twins—ok, Aubrey—had insisted on stopping in the gift store to buy a gift for Dean. A gift that John had, of course, had to pay for, seeing as how neither of the twins had any money. And though Sam had tried to convince the little girl that their oldest brother would rather have a car magazine, she had resolutely refused to consider anything but the comic-strip collection of _Calvin and Hobbs _that she'd spotted in the window.

_And of course, Braden backed her up on it, even though he obviously was more inclined to agree with Sam, judging by the look on his face._ As enigmatic as Braden could be, there were times when there was no doubt what he was thinking. _Yeah, it was pretty damn obvious that he wanted to get the car magazine instead of the book. _But strangely, the little boy conceded to his sister, either unwilling or uncaring enough to argue with her. So while John was confident that Braden could have forced the issue and likely gotten his way in the end, the eight-year-old had simply shrugged and followed Aubrey and John to the register to pay.

_A Winchester unwilling to argue—how the hell does_ that_ happen?_

_Of course, with three other almost equally belligerent children, the odds were in my favor to have at least one who wouldn't argue just for the sake of arguing. Hell, Sam's so argumentative he'd argue with a stop sign until he was blue in the face. Aubrey's showing signs of being persistent to the point of being downright difficult when she wants to be, which is gonna mix _so_ well with Sam's inclination to bitch_._ When those two get to the point where they argue like normal siblings, it's gonna be a shit-storm_._ And let's not forget Dean--boy starts shit just for the hell of it—anything to stave off his boredom. And if I were being honest, I'm pretty damn argumentative myself….Yeah, fate owed me._

So, with the newly purchased book that Aubrey had chosen held securely in her arms, the little girl skipped alongside John, her hand tucked securely in his as Sam and Braden followed behind them, the latter silently commiserating with his older sibling over the matter of the non-purchased car magazine.

As they neared the door to Dean's room, Aubrey looked back over her shoulder at Braden and smiled.

"Hey, let's surprise Dean and Pastor Jim!" she said excitedly.

_Oh damn_, John thought, his mouth opening to protest , but by then, Aubrey had already slipped from his grasp and opened the door to hurry inside. John rushed forward in a vain attempt to grab her, but as he hastened in, he realized it hardly mattered.

_Shit_.

Dean's fevered gaze was fixed on the door, and it was obvious to John that it had been for some time. The panic he saw in his son's eyes was at odds with the blank, unfeeling expression on the boy's face, but John knew which one was the real emotion.

"Aw, Dean, you ruined our surprise," Aubrey was saying good-naturedly. "We was gonna surprise you," she told him as she hurried over to the bed. "How'd you know we was out there?"

"He's hardly taken his eyes off the door since you all left," Jim said softly. "His temperature's been fluctuating quite a bit—coupled with how nervous he gets when you and Sam aren't here, he hasn't had an easy time of it."

"Ah, damn, Jim, I'm sorry. Did he sleep at all?"

"A bit, but it wasn't restful. I imagine the fever and the aches that accompany it have made him too uncomfortable to sleep well. The nurse, Holly I believe it was, said that you may want to consider allowing the doctor to give him something to help him sleep."

"Did he give you a lot of trouble?" John asked, feeling a bit like he was asking about an unruly toddler rather than his oldest son, but needing to know nevertheless.

"He kept trying to get up and leave for awhile, but he settled down eventually to watch the door."

_And what can I say to that except 'sorry, my kids have issues'? Hell, this family has so many issues we make the Bundys from that stupid-ass TV show seem well adjusted by comparison. _

As Sam hopped up onto the bed beside his older brother, John reached out to place a hand on Dean's forehead, glancing up at the monitor by the bed to check Dean's temperature. It was still too high, and John didn't need the monitor to tell him that. If the heat radiating off of him didn't give it away, the fine sheen of sweat coating him would do it.

Dean shifted away from John's hand and slowly and carefully moved over to make more room for Sam, and it wasn't hard to see how his body began to relax, his eyes starting to drift shut.

"Do ya' still feel like shit, Dean?" Aubrey asked innocently, and John cringed, feeling his face heat with embarrassment as he glanced sheepishly over at Jim. _Whoops._

"Aubrey, why don't you go sit by the window over there with your brother and color for a few minutes?" John asked, hoping to deflect the attention away from Aubrey's unintentional cursing as well as steer her away from pestering Dean. The seventeen-year-old cast his father an unmistakably grateful look before turning his head and closing his eyes once more, his desire to be left alone just as unmistakable.

"But what about his present?" Aubrey was asking plaintively.

"Just wait a little bit. Now go on, go over there with your brother."

With a smile, she followed his suggestion and dropped to her knees near the window to dig in her backpack for a coloring book and her well-worn crayons.

"Isn't it a bit early to be exposing your children to such, shall we say rough, language, John?" Jim asked wryly as the two men watched her settle happily next to her twin brother.

"Yeah, about that…I sort of got out of the habit of watching my language," John told him sheepishly.

"Yes, I can see that. Samuel's speech is so well interspersed with profanity that he can hardly refrain from using it at any given moment, and no doubt Dean is no better. And _that's_ if he's not worse. Don't you think it would be a shame if your last two children were to begin cursing like sailors as well? Or should I say jarheads?"

"Ah, Pastor Jim, we're just makin' up for lost time," Sam spoke up with a grin at the clergyman.

"Yes, well it certainly looks like you're all well on your way."

"What can I say, Jim?" John said with a grin, "They're Winchesters—it's like a family trait. And you can't argue genetics."

"Right. Of course not. What was I thinking?" Jim said dryly, and John chuckled.

"Daddy?"

Turning when Aubrey called him, John saw that Aubrey had abandoned her crayons and coloring book almost as fast as she'd retrieved them and was now staring up at him earnestly, Dean's gift once again in her hands.

"What?"

"We're hungry—can you give us some money so we can get somethin' from the machines?"

"John, I'm not sure whether to be impressed or concerned," Jim said with a smile. "In a matter of days, you've managed to get your children to forget all about what it means to eat a meal consisting of food that's not entirely made up of grease, fat, a high salt content, and purchased from a nearby 7-11."

"You should totally be impressed, Pastor Jim," Sam said with an answering grin, causing John to raise an eyebrow in surprise. _Did Sam actually just take my side? Maybe I should be checking _him_ for the fever instead, 'cause _that _sure as hell doesn't happen often._

"Yeah," Sam continued, "Dad managed to get them completely hooked on take-out food, all without having to subject them to the burned shit that he makes when he tries to cook," Sam told Jim, his eyes alight with mischief as he fought back a laugh. _Yep, knew it was too good to be true._

"Alright, smart-ass. For that, _you_ can take the twins downstairs to the cafeteria and get them something to eat before Jim takes them back to his place."

"Nevermind that, John—I don't mind fixing them dinner when we get home."

"But I thought you were gonna let us stay here with you, Daddy," Aubrey said, her lower lip poking out in a pout.

"No, you two are going back with Jim. I told you before—you can't stay here," John told her, fighting back his growing exasperation. He was pretty sure he failed miserably, however, when Aubrey's eyes began to well up with tears.

"You never said that," she told him, rubbing away her tears with the back of her hand as she stared up at him with a mixture of indignation and growing distress.

"Yeah, I did. It's not my fault that you have selective hearing."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means that I said what I said, and you _chose_ not to hear me."

The crying fit that followed wasn't something that John wanted to relive anytime soon. She'd thrown herself at him, the gift dropping from her hands as she sobbed into his shirt-front. Dean had stirred, staring back passively as John had lifted Aubrey into his arms, the little girl crying as though her heart was breaking.

_Damn, it'd be so much easier if she was purposefully being a pain-in-the-ass. If she was just being a brat, I'd spank her and put an end to this shit pretty damn quick. Too bad it's not that simple. _The truth of the matter, John knew, was simply that she was terrified. As completely clueless as he often was when it came to any given child's emotional state-of-mind, even he could see that it was fear that was driving his daughter at this point_. And can I really blame her? _

Carrying her over to the chair, John sat down, cradling his only daughter in his arms with a growing ache in his chest, hating the sense of powerlessness that beat at him as she cried into his shirt-front. The only thing worse than trying to deal with his ever-present grief, John had decided long ago, was acknowledging the helplessness he felt when one of his children was hurting and he couldn't do anything about it.

Braden came over then, squishing onto John's lap sideways beside his sister, his small hand coming up to rest on her back as he laid his cheek on John's chest. John cast a helpless look at Jim, feeling absolutely awful. _My family is falling apart right in front of me, and I can't do a damn thing about it. _

"Maybe you should take her to a therapist, Dad," Sam suggested dryly after Aubrey had cried herself into an exhausted sleep.

"And tell him what, Sam?" John retorted. "That my daughter's traumatized because her mother was taken by something demonic. Yeah, that'll go over well."

"I didn't say you had to tell the guy the truth. I'm just saying, she's kinda messed up, don't you think?"

"We'll handle it. Normal people don't understand—they can't help us."_ And it's not like the therapy-route worked out so great the first go-round_, John thought, his gaze settling on his oldest son for a brief moment before returning to Sam.

"But maybe if—" Sam was saying, but John was through listening to the thirteen-year-old.

"No."

Sam huffed, but John ignored him, absentmindedly rubbing circles on Aubrey's back as he held her and Braden in his arms, turning to Jim, who had remained silent.

"Jim," John began softly, "it might be better to just go ahead and take 'em back to your place, put Aubrey to bed. I can give you some cash if you wanna just hit a drive-thru and grab something for you and Braden to eat. I figure she won't be all that hungry."

"Those children have been living off fast-food for days, John," Jim said with a gentle smile. "I'll fix dinner for myself and Braden when we get back."

Apparently sensing that John was about to move, Braden slipped off his lap and John climbed to his feet, carefully transferring the exhausted little girl to Jim's arms. She didn't stir, which gave John some hope that she wouldn't prove to be too much trouble for Jim.

"I'm really hoping she'll sleep through the night this time, but if she doesn't, just give me a call and I'll see what I can do." _Not that I really have a damn clue what I could do, but I get credit for effort, right?_

"We'll be fine. Get some sleep, John ."

"Yeah."

"Bye, Sam," Braden murmured. "Bye, Daddy," he went on, stopping just long enough to pick up the forgotten gift for Dean, placing it quietly on the bedside table before waving silently, his eyes drifting over John's duffel before he followed Jim out the door.

"Night, son," John replied, feeling the weight of finding himself with two more children, each with issues that were becoming more apparent, falling squarely onto his shoulders as the door closed behind them. He sighed, well aware that the burden he bore was likely to grow even heavier as the twins found their places in the family structure.

"Damn, boys. Nothing's ever easy, is it?" he said softly, sharing a look with his sons before Dean's eyes slipped closed and Sam returned his attention to _The Simpsons_ episode that was playing on the TV, thankfully choosing not to make things worse by commenting on what had just taken place.

Too tired to do more than stare at the duffel holding the stash of books he'd taken from Jim's, John finally gave in and admitted exhaustion. _I'm not gonna be able to do shit if I don't get some sleep. Should have just left the damn books at Jim's. _

Dropping his head against the back of the chair, he shifted the uncomfortable piece of shit into the reclined position, sighing as he felt his body sink into the cushion. Or at least as much as it was possible to sink into a cushion that had the comfort equivalent of a slab of concrete.

"Sam," he mumbled as he closed his eyes.

"Sir?"

"Call the twins before they go to bed, just to check in, will ya'?"

"Sure, Dad," Sam replied easily.

"If Aubrey wants to wail in my ear, tell her I'm asleep," he murmured.

"Yeah, okay," Sam said, snickering a bit, and even though John couldn't see him, he knew the thirteen-year-old was smirking. John was silent for a moment, allowing himself to drift in the netherworld between sleep and awake before stirring to issue one last order.

"And Sam?"

"Hmm?" Sam asked distractedly, his attention likely once again on the TV show.

"Keep an eye on your brother."

"Yeah, Dad—you know I will."

And John did know. The boy would do what he was told, he knew. _This time, at least. _As he felt his body begin to drop into sleep, he had one last thought before the comforting darkness of sleep swallowed him.

_Take care of him, Sam._

* * *

It was the sunlight hitting him square in the face that brought John to a muzzy sort of awareness. Wincing at the sharp stab of pain burning through his retinas as he blinked open his eyes, he dragged a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the grogginess that often accompanied any state of unconsciousness that lasted longer than his typical seven hit-or-miss hours of sleep. _And twelve hours definitely qualifies as longer than usual,_ he thought as he glanced down at his watch to see that it was about eight in the morning. _Slept too damn long…feels like I'm coming off a three-day bender. Without any of the alcohol-induced euphoria that precedes it._

Standing, John stretched, his spine popping audibly as it returned to some semblance of proper alignment after a night spent hunched in a piece-of-shit chair that could have been a stand-in for a medieval torture device. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he turned to look at the boys, not really surprised to see Sam still sprawled out beside Dean. With his legs crossed casually at the ankles, Sam was the image of comfortable as he held a paperback book in one hand while stealing bits of Dean's breakfast off the abandoned tray with the other hand. Dean was still asleep, and whether or not he'd woken up at some point, John wasn't sure. He'd at least shifted at some point though, his face partially buried against Sam's shoulder as he laid awkwardly on his uninjured side, his limbs twisted in what looked to John like the most hellishly uncomfortable sleeping position he'd ever seen.

"Did you let your brother eat any of that before you started poaching it?" John asked, eyeing the tray before casting a look at Sam.

"Hey, he didn't want any. He said he wasn't hungry, so it was fair game," Sam said with a shrug.

"He said that?"

"Well, not in so many words…more like he shoved the tray away. But I can take a hint."

"Did he eat anything at all?"

"Nah. I think he's worried he'll puke it all back up." _And there's a lovely visual, _John thought as he examined the rubbery looking oatmeal, the nauseatingly green lime Jell-o that John knew Dean wouldn't touch, and burnt toast. _That shit looks like something I cooked. Hell, I'm pretty damn hungry, but there's no way in hell I'm touchin' that._

"Well, son, you may be okay with eating what the nurses brought for your brother, but I'm sure as hell not eating that shit, so why don't you run downstairs to the cafeteria and grab us some chow," John told him, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. Pulling out a twenty, he held it as he waited for Sam to carefully maneuver off the bed without jarring his brother. Sam reached out to take the cash, but John held on to it, waiting for the teen to meet his eye.

"I want my change back, understand?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Sam told him, a playful grin on his face as John allowed him to take the money and slip it into his pocket. Slipping his abandoned tennis shoes back on his feet, Sam strolled out of the room, leaving John alone with Dean. He eyed the seventeen-year-old for a moment, ensuring that he was really asleep before he ducked into the small bathroom to take care of business. _If I'm lucky, he'll sleep a bit longer. He could use the sleep._

But when he opened the door a few minutes later, John could hardly say he was surprised to see Dean staring back at him blearily, his face still flushed and his hair slightly damp from a fever-induced sweat.

"Hey, son, how do you feel?"

Dean's reply was a partial shrug before he started toying with the IV taped to the back of his hand.

"Leave it alone, Dean. You pull it out again and the docs are either gonna restrain you or sedate you, and neither one of those options is fun." With a scowl, Dean grudgingly did what his father said, his shaking hand reaching for the remote control that Sam had abandoned in the folds of the sheet.

"Will you be alright if I take a quick shower?"

Dean nodded, flipping through channels with painful slowness, staring at each image for a long moment as though his body and his brain were taking longer to process than usual. _'Course, with all the shit coursing through his system, it's hardly surprising that the boy's not firing on all cylinders yet._

"Holler if you need anything."

Dean didn't respond, neither verbally or visually, and with a sigh, John stepped into the bathroom, leaving the door open just a crack so that he could hear if Dean called out. _Hardly damn likely. More likely he'd suffer in silence until I was finished or his brother got back._

As the hot water cascaded over his tired, weary shoulders, John could only hope that Dean would begin to respond when he was feeling better. _But why do I get the feeling that that's just wishful thinking? Too much has happened to him in the past week for him to just shrug it all off like it's no big deal. The physical shit aside, this thing with the twins has him reeling…and it's not like I made it any easier…_

Just as Aubrey's tears had left him feeling powerless, his oldest son's silence hung heavily on his shoulders, leaving him with a growing sense of desolation and a powerful ache in his chest. _I'm their father, dammit—I should be able to help them through their emotional shit._

It was far more likely, though, that he'd only make things worse, John knew.

_Maybe if Mary was still here, I'd be able to actually _relate_ to my children, or hell, talk to them without blowing a gasket or labeling every damn thing they try to tell me as_ _pansy-ass whining. _Shaking his head, John allowed the hot, steaming water wash all of the emotional bullshit cascading onto him down the drain.

Ten minutes later, John stepped out of the shower feeling more like himself and at least a tad more capable. Even if he was in no better position to deal with all of the shit going on than he was before. He opened the door, glad to see that Sam had returned and was busy laying food out on the rolling tray, the boy having shoved Dean's abandoned breakfast aside to make room.

Spotting him in the doorway, Sam tossed John a wrapped biscuit, which John snatched out of the air easily, already peeling back the wrapper as he walked back to the chair he'd spent the night in.

"So, Dean, I got you a doughnut, in case you're hungry. It's just one of those plain ones, you know the glazed kind, but it's better than that crap _they_ brought you. I mean, dude, no wonder you didn't want any of it—it tastes like dirt, and I should know, 'cause I actually ate some of it. But only because I was starving, and Dad was still snoring. But anyway, I figured you might want something else, 'cause trust 

me, you don't want that shit," Sam said with a laugh, pulling the doughnut out of the bag and offering it to Dean, who stared at it for a moment before slowly shaking his head.

"Son, the sooner you start eating, the sooner the doctors are gonna let you leave, because you eating is a sign that you're recovering," John told Dean softly, knowing that he was playing off Dean's dislike of hospitals in order to convince him to eat. _Probably shouldn't, but it's for his own good and I'm not above manipulating my kids if I think it's necessary._

Reluctantly, Dean swallowed and reached out to take the doughnut from his younger brother, grimacing as he slowly lifted it to his mouth. But he didn't even take a bite before he was dropping it onto the breakfast tray with a nauseated expression, looking like he was trying to swallow back bile. _He's still feeling pretty damn bad, too…Fever's probably gone back up—one of the nurses said that could happen. Yeah, _John thought, eyeing his oldest with a discerning gaze,_ his eyes have that glassy, I'm-hardly-aware-of-what-I'm-doing-or-what's-going-on-around-me look._

"Sam, why don't you go back downstairs, try and find him something that's not quite so rich and doughy," John said softly. "Something that'll go easy on his stomach, alright?"

"Yes sir," Sam said, setting his own food down to once again go back downstairs in search of food. _Gotta give him credit for not arguing with me—it happens so rarely._

Sam returned in record time, this time with a small container of the red, cherry-flavored Jell-O that John knew was the only flavor that Dean would actually eat. _Boy will eat just about anything without discrimination, but he gets picky when it comes to Jell-O. Strange as hell. _

With Sam coaxing him to eat, the younger boy holding the spoon for his older brother, Dean managed to choke down about half of the Jell-O before he shoved Sam's hand away and pointedly turned away. His head dropped back to his pillow as Sam shrugged at John and set the remainder of Jell-O on the tray before settling back into a familiar sprawl beside Dean, his feet stretched out in front of him comfortably.

As Dean's eyes closed once again, and Sam returned his attention to the novel he was currently immersed in, John reached for the duffel of books, dragging the heavy bag toward him and unzipping it. _No rest for the weary—better get started with these, 'cause when I don't find shit in them, I'm gonna have to ask Jim to bring me a new stack, _he thought cynically. Taking out the one on top of the stack, John frowned, running his fingers along the cover as his brow creased with confusion.

_What the hell? I don't remember putting this one in here._

"What's wrong, Dad?"

John looked up to see Sam staring at him with a curious expression, his finger holding his place in his novel as he looked back at his father.

"I don't know how this got here," John muttered darkly. "I didn't pick this up, and I sure as hell don't remember putting it in the bag."

"Oh, that's cause you didn't," Sam said with a shrug as he started to return to his novel.

"Excuse me?"

Sam heaved a much put-upon sigh, rolling his eyes as he looked up once again.

"You didn't put it in the bag, Dad—Bray did. When we were in the car. You weren't paying any attention. It's the one he found for you earlier."

"Son of a bitch," John mumbled, pissed at himself for not noticing his youngest son messing with his bag. _Hell, even _Sam_ noticed. Either he's getting more observant or I'm losing my edge. _

"You might as well look at it," Sam said as John went to set the book aside. "I mean, he must think it's important if he went to all the trouble of sneaking it into your bag."

"Sam, he's eight." _What's an eight-year-old know about researching anyway?_

"So? Doesn't mean he didn't pick a good one. And you pick books at random all the time—what makes Braden's choice any worse than yours?"

_Smart ass._

"Besides, you did sort of imply that you'd look at it," Sam pointed out nonchalantly.

"When did I do that?"

"When Braden first tried to hand it to you."

John honestly didn't recall that, but the sincerity on Sam's face belied John's own uncertainty.

"Fine," John muttered, feeling nine kinds of stupid for opening the book his eight-year-old son had chosen, but beginning to browse the first chapter anyway. But it was a huge-ass book, which left John feeling even more annoyed as he tried to scan the book's contents.

Two hours later, he was only halfway through the fourth chapter and beginning to feel pretty damn annoyed about the whole thing. Ready to cast it aside, something caught his eye at the last minute, and he frowned, beginning to peruse the current page more closely, skipping over the illustrations in favor of the information written there.

_Hell, this could be it, _he thought, feeling his heart begin to speed up with anticipation. But as he read over the brief passage, irritation took the place of his exhilaration as he finished reading. _I need more— there's hardly enough information here to be reliable. I need to know what I'm up against, especially if this sonovabitch is as bad-ass as this guy implies. Hell, if it was such a big fucking deal, you'd think the guy would have given us a little more information. 'Dangerous' doesn't really tell me anything, asshole._

"Dammit," he said aloud, blowing out an angry breath as he tried to vent his frustration.

"What's the matter _now_?" Sam asked, his tone a mixture of exasperation and smart-ass that only a teenager could pull off with any measure of believability.

"Give me the phone," John ordered, pulling the meal tray over and laying the open book down before reaching for his journal."

"How come?"

"Because I need to make a phone call. Phone, Sam, now please."

"Who're ya' calling?"

"Quit asking questions and pass me the damn phone, Samuel!" With that annoyed huff that irritated the hell out of John, Sam placed the phone receiver in John's outstretched hand before slumping back against the bed with a scowl. Ignoring him, John dialed Bobby's number, waiting impatiently for the older man to pick up.

"_Hello?"_

"Bobby, it's John."

"_Whatcha need, Winchester?" _Bobby asked good-naturedly if not a bit suspiciously.

"Demonic expertise."

"_Well, I got that, John—you gotta be more specific. Do ya know what you're dealin' with?_"

"A Minion, I think."

"_Oh, not good, John. Not good."_

"How bad is it?" John asked, fearing the worst as he waited for Bobby's response. _Hell, when Bobby says it's bad, it's pretty damn bad._

"_Well…it could be worse, I suppose, but it sorta depends."_

"On what?" John asked with narrowed eyes.

"_Did it get someone you know?"_

"Uh, yeah. Woman I know—Elaine."

"_You two close?"_

"Sort of."

"_What does that mean?"_

"Means I've got two children by her."

"_Hell, John," _was all Bobby said, and John had to give the man credit—he didn't ask awkward questions or pry for more information. But then again, "Hell, John," wasn't exactly the optimistic response John was hoping for.

"What, Bobby? What are you tryin' to tell me?"

"_You've gotta track that sonovabitch down, and you need to do it fast."_

"You think Elaine is still alive?"

"_Not in the sense you're talking about."_

"What do you mean? Dammit, Bobby, you're talking in fucking riddles, here! Just give me a straight answer!"

"_Minions are soul-stealers, John. If this thing went after Elaine, he's holding her soul, not lettin' her spirit pass on. And if it took her recently, it's probably still using her body like a kid with a new toy."_

"Are you shittin' me?!"

"_No, 'fraid not."_

"So you're saying that this demonic sonovabitch is wandering around in Elaine's body?"

"_Yeah, that's what I'm sayin'."_

"Well can we get her back?"

"_I'm not sure what you're asking me, John."_

"I'm asking you if we can save her." Bobby was quiet for a long moment, and John had a sinking feeling in his gut as the silence grew painful.

"_I'm sorry, John,"_ he said finally. _"You can exorcise the Minion from a body like any other demon, but that just releases the body—it doesn't put the soul back into it. She's dead, John. The Minion just reanimated the corpse to make the kill worthwhile. Hell, it wasn't even after the body—it's the soul these things are after."_

"Why?"

"_Because that's what they do, John. They collect souls the way some people collect guns or books, the more unique, the better."_

At that moment, something Braden had said suddenly came back to John, and a chill went down his spine. _"It came for me and Aubrey, I think."_

"Oh shit, Bobby."

"_What? What's wrong?"_

"I think it may have been after the twins."

"_What twins?"_

"The twins I have by Elaine."

"_Oh, those twins. Right. Well, hell, they're a matched set, but they're still two separate souls, no different than any other. So why do you think the Minion would go after them specifically?"_

"I have my reasons."

"_And you're not gonna share them,"_ Bobby said, and John could tell from the man's tone that it wasn't a question. _Bastard knows me pretty damn well._

"No."

"_Somehow I'm not really surprised."_

"Well, it's not exactly the kind of discussion I want to get into over the phone. We're staying in Blue Lake until Dean's back on his feet, but—"

"_What's wrong with Dean?"_

"Infection that got out of hand—landed him back in the hospital."

"_Damn, John—boy's had a rough time of it lately."_

"Yeah, you don't know the half of it," John said grimly. "But like I was saying—as soon as he's okay to travel, I'm heading your way. I need everything you can get on Minions—how to track them, how to kill them, how to make damn sure they don't come back—I want it all, Bobby."

"_You got it. I'll see what I can pull together for ya'."_

"I'll give you a call when Dean's released—let you know what sort of time-frame we're looking at."

"_Yeah, alright."_

John hung up the phone then, never having been one to exchange pleasant niceties over the phone, whether it was "hello, how are you" or "nice talking to you, good-bye"—social pleasantries were for people who had the time and the patience for that sort of shit, and John didn't consider himself to fall into that category.

Sam was staring at him expectantly, his book completely forgotten as he gazed at his father with excitement.

"What did Bobby say?"

"Nothing you need to know."

"What?! Dad, come on, what the hell? Why won't you tell me?"

"Because you don't need to know."

"The hell I don't! You always do this—you never tell me anything!"

"Look, when I think you need to know something, I'll tell you. Until then, I expect you to keep your mouth shut and do what you're told. Now I don't want another word about it, do you understand?"

Dean, unable to sleep through the argument that had quickly developed, opened his eyes and reached out, placing a restraining hand on his brother's arm and shaking his head tiredly. It wasn't hard to see the toll of such simple actions were having on his oldest, but Dean never had been able to ignore it when his brother and father argued. But the weariness in the seventeen-year-old's eyes was enough to make John feel guilty, and it appeared to have the same effect on Sam, John saw.

He could see the struggle on Sam's face, the struggle not to throw out a smart-aleck response or a heated argument, the struggle to let it go, the struggle to not push his father any further. But in the end, the expression in Dean's eyes was enough to win out, and all of the piss and vinegar just seemed to trickle out of his younger son. With a sigh, Sam dropped back to the bed, grabbing the abandoned remote and turning the TV back on. John gave a sigh of his own, disheartened to realize that the fragile peace that had existed between himself and Sam had once again dissipated, the thirteen-year-old choosing to stay true to form and ignore his father. And the weight on John's shoulders seemed to get just a little heavier as he watched his son continue to drift further and further away from him, and things seemed to spiral a little further out of control.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so after a longer-than-I'd-hoped-for wait, there you have it! The good news is, I've already gotten started on the next two chapters, and I have an idea of where I'm going with it! So anyways, keep reviewing—it's very motivating! Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter!

**I'mcalledZorro**: Glad to hear you enjoyed the shooting lesson with Bray and John—I've gone shooting with my father, and taken a Concealed Weapons course to get my permit, so a lot of the things John was saying were familiar to me, as well! As for Braden, I hope you don't mind being puzzled by him, because he's not going to become any clearer for a considerable while! Thanks for reviewing!

**zuimar: **I'm having so much fun writing Braden, so I was really glad to hear that you're enjoying his character as much as I am. I know Dean has been rather absent lately, but one of my betas called me on it—thank goodness I have her around—so I shifted the next chapter to later so that I can throw in a Dean chapter. So, expect Chapter 16 to be a Dean-centric one! Thanks for reviewing!

**jade1056**: Sorry that I made you wait a little longer than usual for this chapter—I had some issues to work out with the timing, which slowed me down. I've gotten started on the next two chapters, though, and I'll be done with work for the summer by June 5th, so I'll have more time to churn out chapters! Anyways, I'm so glad to hear that you're enjoying my fic, and thanks so much for reviewing!

**Poppyflake**: Unfortunately, the secret to Braden's fountain of knowledge won't be revealed for awhile—you can expect more little hints and occurrences, but nothing definite will be revealed until much later. I know, I'm totally drawing it out, but I need to in order to keep the story going.

**nightingale**: As always, it's great to hear from you! Glad to hear that you enjoyed the last chapter—I was a bit worried about pulling off Braden's perspective realistically, so it was nice to hear from you about it. I won't be revealing Braden's mystery until much later, but there will no doubt be many more little scenes featuring his strange behavior. As for Aubrey, I'm totally glad that you were honest with me about how you saw Aubrey—it helped me improve her character, because once you pointed it out, I saw that I needed to include more explanation for her behavior. Don't worry—she won't always be so "girly." Granted, she'll likely continue to play girly games, like Barbies, but she won't be so stereotypical. The goal for me is to show her abandonment issues—that's why she's so clingy. If they'd met their dad before Elaine disappeared, she'd be 'normal.' But she's eight, so she's coping the best way she can. Anyways, thanks so much, though, for telling me how you perceived her—it apparently worked out, because I gave more insight, and you were able to relate to her a little better. Thanks for reviewing!!


	16. Lost in Translation

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks mimishell and CagedTroll for all of your expert beta advice—don't know what I'd do without you guys!

Chapter 16—Lost in Translation

"So we're going to Uncle Bobby's then?"

Sam's question, forced out in a tone somewhere between combative and grudgingly contrite, brought Dean out of the light doze he had started to drift into, and he opened his eyes once again, wondering how his father would choose to answer the mildly hostile tone. He'd thought the argument he'd awoken to was over, but Sam's bitchy tone could just as easily spark another row between his brother and father.

"I'm not gonna answer that--you were close enough to hear for yourself," John said, his tone easily matching Sam's.

_Do you two _have_ to do this right now? _

"It was just a question," Sam retorted in that snippy sort of way that Sam was so good at, and Dean found himself getting a bit irritated himself at the level of pissiness in his little brother's voice. _What the hell is Sammy doing? He knows damn well that he's only gonna --son of a— Sammy's totally baiting him, the little shithead._

"Well, it wasn't exactly the most intelligent one you've ever asked, now, was it?" John was saying, and it was more than evident that he was just as raring to go as Sam. _Can't they ever just give it a rest?_

"You're the one who said there's no such thing as a stupid question," Sam threw back, a smug expression on his face as he met his father's eyes with a gaze that was unmistakably challenging.

_Ah, shit, here we go again. _

"Yeah, well, I sort of thought that you were smart enough to know the difference—thought there was no need to discuss it. My mistake," John told him, his eyes narrowing as he waited to see if Sam would back down.

_Don't count on it, Dad._

Dean sighed, tired of being stuck in the hospital, tired of hurting, and most of all, tired of listening to his father and Sam bitch at each other yet again. The expected retort that Sam was about to utter never came, however, as the thirteen-year-old heard Dean's exhalation.

"Hey, bro, how ya' feelin'?" Sam asked, his face lighting up when he saw Dean's eyes open.

_Talk about stupid questions, Sammy,_ Dean thought irritably, scowling back at his brother. _How do I look like I feel? I feel like shit. My freakin' knee hurts like hell, my head aches, this room is too damn hot, my side feels like it got raked over with a rusty garden tool, and you wanna ask me how I feel? _

Dean wanted nothing more than to tell his brother exactly how he felt, but with his father staring at him from across the room, the words seemed to get lodged in his throat. Frustrated, Dean shook his head angrily, feeling a stupid urge to cry as everything he wanted to say stayed firmly embedded inside him.

"Sorry we woke you up, Dean…" Sam said apologetically, offering a half-smile that he obviously hoped would placate the older boy.

But after spending an entire day with Pastor Jim, waiting for his family to come back, Dean was quickly reaching the end of his endurance, and Sam's soft-spoken apology served to do nothing more than piss him off.

_Yeah? If you were so damn sorry, then maybe you and Dad shouldn't have been bitching at each other in the first place! Maybe if you two shut the hell up long enough to remember I was still here, then maybe I could sleep instead of lay here awake and miserable, listening to the two of you have another damn argument!_

Angry and unable to verbally ease the tension as he normally did, Dean did the only other thing he _could_ do. His eyes hot with fury, he grabbed the water pitcher from the bedside table and slung it across the room, watching with dark satisfaction as it slammed into the wall, the plastic lid popping off and sending a splash of water onto the wall and floor in a fine spray. _Wish it had been glass_, Dean thought hotly as he shook with barely contained rage, his anger not yet spent as his hands reached for the abandoned dishes on his tray. The large plastic cup followed the same trajectory as the pitcher, and he was reaching for the plate when John caught his wrist in a firm grip.

"Enough, Dean," his father said softly. "Enough."

With a shaky sigh, Dean stilled, staring up at his father for a long moment before he dropped back against the pillow, closing his eyes as he fought back the tightness in his throat that told him just how close to crying he really was. _Don't do it, Dean. Don't cry. You're seventeen, not some pansy-ass little girl. Suck it up like Dad said, and get over it._

But right at that moment, feeling so terrible and having his father staring down at him, Dean was finding it really hard to suck it up.

John released his grip on Dean's wrist, and suddenly, Dean felt his father's hand come to rest on his forehead, smoothing the sweat-soaked hair back from Dean's face.

"Go back to sleep, son."

_Sick of sleeping_, Dean thought, even though he _was_ tired. But with his temperature up, his dreams had been strange and creepy as hell, leaving him none too eager to go back to sleep. _Don't wanna sleep anymore, Dad. Besides, it's not like I'll get much…you and Sam'll just start sniping at each other again. _

But John was still running a gentle hand over Dean's head, the soothing motion easing the headache that Dean currently had, and the lessening of the tension was enough to put him to sleep easily.

* * *

He could see it coming, getting closer and closer with every passing second. _Shit, no!_ He backpedaled, trying to put more distance between them, but he couldn't seem to get any further away. His heart was pounding in his chest, adrenaline and fear pumping through him with every heartbeat. He closed his eyes as tightly as he could, naively hoping that if he couldn't see it, it couldn't see him either, but he knew deep down that it wouldn't work. _It's coming! No, no, no…move!_ His eyes shot open as he fought to force his body to move. Sharp teeth filled his vision, and he found himself yelling, completely panic-stricken and cornered.

"NO!"

"Dean! Wake up, Dean!"

Sammy's voice reverberating in his ear, Dean's eyes shot open, his hand shooting out to grab at his younger brother's shirt, his fist twisting in the cotton of Sammy's t-shirt as he yanked his brother closer.

"Stop…stop…it, Sammy," Dean gasped out, breathing in harsh pants as his eyes searched the room frantically.

"Stop what, Dean? I'm not doin' anything," Sam told him, confused and defensive.

"Don't…don't let it…get me, Sammy," Dean told him frantically, knowing that his words weren't coming out right, but not quite capable of remedying the situation, the fever leaving him confused and unable to completely separate himself from the nightmare. Sweat dripped into his eyes as he looked for the source of his anxiety.

"Nothing's gonna get you, Dean, I swear."

"It…it was…it was here—saw it…"

"What, man?"

"Fur…and the…teeth…and it…" _Know I saw it! _

"Dude, are you talking about Boo?"

"Please…kill it, Sammy," he pleaded, not above begging his little brother if it meant that Sam would kill the hamster that he knew was trying its damnedest to get him.

"Dean, it's okay—Boo's not here, he can't hurt you! Besides, he's the size of your hand—he's not gonna be able to do more than bite you on the finger or something!"

Unfortunately, that was the wrong thing to say, and Dean pushed aside the sheet and blanket, double checking that the little rodent wasn't lurking amidst the covers. _No way I'm lettin' that creepy-ass rodent get me_, he thought obstinately. Dissatisfied when he didn't find the stupid thing where he thought he would, he swiped at the sweat running into his eyes and prepared to stand, unwilling to let the matter go until he'd searched the entire room.

_I know that little bitch is somewhere in here… _

Awkwardly kicking the covers completely away from him with the leg that wasn't hurting like a sonovabitch, he started levering himself up, ignoring the pain that spiked through his side and the unending ache in his stiffened knee as he gripped the rail on the bed and pulled himself up.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked with alarm, reaching out to grip Dean by the shoulders, halting his movement.

"If…if you…won't take…care of it…I will," Dean said, forcing the words out, staring his brother in the eyes before pushing him away and continuing his actions.

"Dean, look, I told you—Boo isn't here! He's with the twins at Pastor Jim's!"

"Don't. Don't lie…I know…I know it's here," Dean insisted, growing increasingly agitated as the various cords he found attached to him held him back. _Why would Sammy lie to me? Is he taking _their_ side now?_

"It's not, I swear, Dean!"

Sure now that Sam was lying to him, whether intentionally or not, Dean ignored his brother and instead reached for the IV, scowling when Sam caught at his hand.

"Dean, no!"

"Back off," he bit out, grabbing Sam's arm and using it to shove the younger boy away with a surprisingly strong push. _Bitch thinks he can stop me—doesn't know I'm doing him a favor. That fucking rodent's hidin' somewhere, and I'm gonna find it—not letting a damn hamster beat me, no way in hell…But first, you've gotta get off me,_ _Sammy_, he thought with growing annoyance at his brother.

"Dad! A little help here would be nice!" he heard Sam holler, the scrappy thirteen-year-old trying desperately to calm his older brother. The door to the bathroom was thrown open, John rushing out wearing nothing more than his jeans and white tee, a hand-towel thrown haphazardly across his shoulders as he hurried forward.

"Dean! What the hell are you doing, son? Settle down!" John barked out, his hands reaching out to grasp Dean's shoulders. "Sam, what's wrong with him?"

"You mean, other than the fact that I think he's completely lost it?" Sam retorted sarcastically as he backed away to give John additional room to grab a hold of Dean.

Confronted with his father, Dean could no longer force the words out, but desperate to find the creature he was certain was out to get him, Dean tried to jerk away from his father.

_Why are you holding me back, Dad?! He's taking their side—gonna let it get me. Well, fuck that—if Dad won't watch my back, I'll take care of it myself, and then he'll see!_ Dean thought doggedly, still fighting John's hold on him.

"He's running a high fever, Samuel—he's bound to be a little less than lucid. But something set him off like this, so you tell me and you tell me _now_—what the hell happened?"

_You keep your mouth shut, Sammy! Don't you do it! I don't want him to know! _

"He thinks Boo is out to get him, Dad—he thinks the twins let it loose in the room or something."

_Bitch_, Dean thought heatedly, trying once again to jerk away from his father. _Can't trust anybody anymore._

"What?" John was asking Sam incredulously. "Dean, there's nothing here, son," John told him, trying to settle him back against the mattress.

_Why can't you just help me? I just need to find the damn hamster!_ Dean thought belligerently, wrenching away from his father's hands so that he could reach the pesky IV still imbedded in his hand. It was obvious to him that if he wanted the hamster dealt with, he'd have to do it himself.

"Dean, stop this!" John yelled, shifting his grip and forcing Dean back into a prone position with relative ease. Dean twisted as much as he could, fighting against the hold his father had on him, but the older man's grip was unrelenting. Which only served to piss Dean off.

_You never help me when I need you! _Dean screamed out. But he was the only one who heard the words that remained locked so tightly inside him, and for Dean, it was all just too much to bear.

With a bellow, he broke his father's hold on his shoulders and lashed out, managing to land a glancing blow to John's chest before John grabbed his wrists once again and turned him, pulling him in against him so that Dean was trapped, his back to his father's rock-solid chest.

_No! Why are you doing this?! It's all your fault! You screwed everything up! Why'd you do it!? Why?! Why'd you have to sleep with her?!_

Dean couldn't have said when it became about more than the hamster, but at that moment, everything was just too damn overwhelming. He was tired, tired of everything he was feeling: the hurt, the betrayal, the pain, all of it. He was sick of all of it.

"Stand down, son," John was saying, the familiar stern voice doing nothing to calm Dean down. _No! You can't make me obey! Not this time! 'Cause I know the truth—I screwed up, and now I'm as replaceable as Mom! _

"Dean, it's alright—I've got you. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you," Dean could hear John say through the clamor of thoughts ricocheting through his mind. But it wasn't enough.

_I don't believe you—I can't trust _you_! You're gonna leave again, I know it! And you'll forget me, just like you forgot Mom! Let me go!!_

Dean fought his father's hold for as long as he could, unwilling to give into the man until he'd completely exhausted himself, but the older man's grip was as unrelenting as ever, leaving Dean worn out and unable to fight anymore. As he slumped against his father, finally submitting, John's grip shifted, one hand coming to rest on Dean's heated forehead, the other over Dean's pounding heart, while he rocked gently back and forth in his embrace, attempting to settle him.

"Atta boy, Dean, that's it, you're alright now," John whispered against his hair, but Dean wanted to shake his head, to tell John that he was wrong. _I'm not alright._

"The hamster really _isn't _here, Dean," Sam told him softly, placing a gentle hand on his older brother's shoulder in a vain attempt to comfort him. But it didn't help, because everything that was bothering Dean was so much bigger than a hand-sized rodent.

_Who gives a shit about the damn hamster anymore? It doesn't matter! _Dean thought inconsolably, the matter of the pint-sized rodent all but gone from his mind as the truth of what was bothering him suddenly pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. A shaky sigh left him, and he fought to don the mask he always wore over his emotions, the one that kept him safe, the one that kept him from feeling too much. From hurting too much. But the mask had slipped, eluding him, and Dean could feel the sense of panic beginning to well up at the thought of his little brother seeing him totally lose it.

"Sam, take a walk," John said grimly, and for once, Sam didn't argue or question as he quickly stood up and left the room, the door closing quietly behind him. Sam's footsteps hadn't even retreated from the other side of the door when a sob escaped Dean, causing his breath to hitch in his throat. He shook his head angrily, trying desperately to push away the emotions. _No! I don't wanna feel like this! Bury it, Dean!_

"Don't fight it this time, son—just let it out. Everything's gonna be okay," John whispered, turning Dean in his grasp so that he was nestled in a sideways hug, held securely against his father, Dean's shoulder resting against the older Winchester's chest.

_No, it won't,_ Dean thought. And as though the mere acknowledgement that finally served as the last straw, the dam holding back Dean's feelings suddenly broke. Burying his face in his father's shirt, Dean found that he couldn't fight the tears anymore, shuddering sobs wracking him as he fought for control.

"Shh, it's okay," Dean heard him murmur, but the words were empty to Dean, because he'd learned the truth a long time ago: things were rarely okay. Life wasn't fair, and expecting it to be was a lesson in futility.

_It hurts, Dad! Why won't it stop?_ he thought as he cried, physical pain blurring with emotional pain to leave him feeling like a complete wreck._ I don't feel good. Hurts too much. Please make it stop, Dad, _he pleaded, knowing well enough that his father couldn't hear him, but wishing the older man could do something anyway.

"We both know this is about more than that damn hamster," John started softly, his voice gruff as he fought his natural reticence to begin what they both knew was likely to turn into a 'chick flick moment.' "You and me, Dean, we've always been pretty damn tight, and hell, I know that I haven't always made it easy. But this thing with Elaine and the twins has fucked things up between us, and that hurts me more than you know." As his father spoke, Dean felt the tightening in his chest begin to ease, the anxious, nervous energy subsiding enough that could feel his body relaxing, the gut-wrenching sense of anguish that held him in an iron grip beginning to lessen.

"I'm far from perfect, son—hell, just ask anyone. But I do the best I can, and if I fall short sometimes…I'm sorry." He paused, sighing as he smoothed Dean's hair back in what Dean knew was one of the few gestures of fatherly affection that had managed to survive his mother's death. "I want you to realize that regardless of what happened between me and Elaine, I've never stopped loving your mother with every fiber of my being. I'd never tell the twins this, because it would hurt them, but…son, you need to know, that what was between me and Elaine was just physical. I didn't lie to her about that—she knew I couldn't give her more than a few nights."

_But why?_ Dean thought, lifting his head to look up at him, trying desperately to understand something he wasn't even sure his father knew the answer to. John shrugged his shoulder, obviously sensing Dean's need for an explanation, but putting hard feelings into words had never exactly been a Winchester strong suit.

"Look, son, it's…I know it's hard for you to understand this, and I know that you feel like I betrayed your mom—I'm sorry for that. But there are times…" he swallowed hard, and Dean felt his own throat tighten once more, the anguish he heard in his father's voice answered with anguish of his own.

"There are times, son, when it's just too damn hard to be alone. Your mother was everything to me, Dean, _everything_, and losing her…it just about killed me," John told him, and Dean could hear the strain in his father's voice as he tried to talk about things that were so deeply painful they'd never been spoken of before.

"That kind of hurt isn't something you ever get over. But sometimes, I just need somebody to help me forget, for just a little while, that I once held the world in my arms." He broke off, not saying anymore, but for the moment, Dean was okay with that. His father's words still echoing in his mind, he felt himself settling into a semblance of calm, the pounding of his heart in his chest steadying into a slow, even rhythm, the fingers clenched in his father's shirt beginning to relax their grip.

Vaguely, Dean was aware of someone quietly opening the door, and he wearily lifted his gaze, his head just as quickly dropping back to rest against John's chest as he distantly listened to his father talking to the nurse he saw standing there.

"He's fine—he just got worked up about something, but he's alright now. I've got it covered."

"I can order a mild sedative if you'd like, Mr. Winchester, just something to settle him, help him sleep."

Dean shook his head minutely, hoping like hell his father wouldn't force the issue, because he sure as hell wasn't up to another knock-down, drag-out fight with the old man. _Tell her no, Dad—don't like how the drugs make me feel…can't wake up when I need to… _Luckily, despite the fact that Dean hadn't said a word, John got it.

"Nah, I don't want him doped up on that shit—he's got enough to deal with as it is. He's fine for now—I've got him."

"Alright, well, if you change your mind, let us know. You may want to consider it if he can't sleep soundly. He needs the rest." _Don't let that pretty face of hers fool you, Dad—don't let her change your mind._

"And he'll get it," John told her confidently, and Dean sighed with relief, glad that at least his father wasn't going to let the nurse have her way. Dean felt his eyes beginning to drift shut, but he fought the urge to sleep, watching as John waited until the nurse had left before he murmured, "Go on back to sleep, son. Your brother will be back soon, and we're not going anywhere. We'll be right here, as long as you need us."

_You promise? _

"Just give it some time, Dean. Things will get better. I promise."

And in that moment, that was all the assurance Dean needed to fall asleep, his father's arms still wrapped comfortingly around him, allowing him to pretend that nothing in the world could hurt him.

* * *

The next time Dean opened his eyes, he was pleased to discover that his mind was a lot clearer than it had been. _Hell, I actually have a freakin' idea of what's going on. _Sam was flopped beside him, asleep, his arms and legs sprawled all over both the bed and Dean. But then, that was hardly surprising to Dean. _That little bitch takes up almost the entire bed...gonna have to do something about that soon. When I feel better._

He looked around for his father, but there was no sign of the older man anywhere. _Bathroom door's open. And Dad's duffel bag's gone. But journal's still here_, he thought, spotting the familiar brown leather cover sitting on the bedside table atop a gift-wrapped present._ Dad wouldn't leave his journal…where is he?_ Frowning, Dean shoved his little brother, wanting answers and annoyed beyond measure when the younger boy merely sighed and rolled over, never once bothering to open his eyes.

_Alright, Sammy, if that's how you want to play it, fine. I'll just have to resort to drastic measures, I guess. It's your own fault._ Moving faster than he had in some time, he suddenly grabbed Sam in a headlock, giving the younger boy the biggest noogie ever as he drove his knuckles into Sam's skull.

"Ow! Quit it, Dean! Let go, you jerk!"

_Bitch,_ Dean thought affectionately, releasing Sam and watching with a grin as Sam rubbed at his head with a grimace.

"What the hell was that for?"

"Where's Dad?" he asked, wincing when his voice emerged in a soft murmur.

"He went back to Pastor Jim's for a change of clothes and another set of worthless books. Waste of time, if you ask me. He's not gonna find anything more in those books than he did—"

"Journal's here."

"Yeah, well, he won't be gone long. Hey, listen, you're pretty lucid, right?"

_Lucid? Who the hell uses a word like 'lucid'? My brother's a geek._

"I mean," Sam continued, "if I go take a quick shower, you're not gonna freak out on me, are you? You'll still be here when I come out, right?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure? 'Cause if you're not, I can wait until Dad comes back. If you disappear while I'm showering, though, he'll totally kick my ass—it won't be pretty."

" 's fine, Sammy."

"Awesome! Just don't go anywhere. And, you know, don't flip out," Sam said as he hopped off the bed and grabbed his duffel before disappearing into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

With nothing else to do, Dean reached for the remote, scowling at the sight of his hand shaking. Annoyed, he tightened his grip, and if he pressed the buttons a tad harder than necessary, well, it made him feel a little better. But not much, considering what was on the TV at this time of day.

_Nothing but old-people shit and dumb-ass talk shows on,_ Dean thought, frowning up at the TV that was currently showing Maury Povich and a crowd of angry guests. _Stupid bitches,_ Dean thought, eyeing the screaming harpies who looked ready to claw each others' eyes out. _This won't even be a good cat-fight—it'll just be a bunch of redneck sluts bitch-slapping each other and screaming like banshees. It's like I always tell Sammy—daytime television sucks out loud._

Bored, he turned the TV off again, looking around the room for something to do, his eyes lighting on the only possibility to be found: his father's journal. Reaching out, he grabbed the journal, opening it to a blank page in the back and uncapping the pen John had left inside it.

He doodled for awhile, sketching and adding little notes until his stomach finally made it known that it wanted food. _And what good timing, too_, Dean thought as Sam opened the door, reappearing freshly showered, his hair dripping onto a wrinkled but clean shirt.

"I'm hungry."

"It's almost noon—one of the nurses will probably be around soon enough to bring you lunch."

"Not _that_."

"You want me to go get you something better to eat?"

"Yep."

"Oh. Too bad," Sam said with a smart-aleck grin. "I don't have any money—Dad made me give his change back from last time. You'll either have to eat the shit they bring you or wait until Dad gets back."

"Call him."

"He won't be gone much longer."

"Call him."

Sam huffed, but one look from Dean was enough to make Sam pick up the phone and dial Pastor Jim's number.

"Hey, Pastor Jim, it's Sam. Is my dad still there?... … … No, nothing's wrong—Dean's just bitching about wanting something better to eat than hospital food, and I don't have any money to buy him something with… … … Yeah, okay…… Hey, Dad. Yeah, Dean's hungry. Nah, he doesn't want the hospital food. Are you gonna be back soon?... … …Okay, I'll tell him. Yessir. Bye."

"He coming?"

"Yeah. He said to tell you that he'll be back in about twenty minutes. Until then, you'll just have to be patient—his words, not mine."

_Easy for Dad to say—he's eaten more than Jell-O in the past few days. How many days has it been anyway? Let's see, it was a Monday when I started feeling like shit…or was it a Tuesday? Well, damn._

Setting his father's journal back on the bedside table, Dean picked up the remote, too tired to keep doodling, but bored enough to give the TV another shot. Sam plopped down beside him, and Dean shoved him over a bit when Sam's cold, wet hair touched his shoulder.

"What's on?" Sam asked, scooting over just enough to ensure Dean's shoulder and pillow wouldn't wind up wet before settle back comfortably.

"Absolute shit."

"Yeah, I figured. There's never anything good on."

Dean channel-surfed for a few minutes, but he'd never had the patience for it, so he finally stopped on "The Young and the Restless." _Should have been called _The Young and the Ruthless—_these people are twisted. _

"Dude, what the hell? This is a soap opera—why'd you stop it on this?" Sam asked, the annoyance and incredulity in his voice more than obvious.

"Hot chicks."

"But this is stupid! It's just all these people playing Musical Sex-Partners with each other and trying to off each other for money. It's completely ridiculous!"

Dean shrugged, unwilling to argue with his brother, especially when a blonde came onscreen wearing a bikini. _Wow, she's got awesome—_

"Okay, she's hot—I admit it," Sam said abruptly, his eyes widening as he watched the blonde with all of the awe of a teenage boy.

"Hell, yeah."

"But _not_ as hot as _that _chick," Sam said suddenly, the two of them staring entranced at the busty brunette who'd just appeared.

"Damn," Dean whispered, nodding in agreement. Their gazes were still fixed upon the TV when John walked through the door twenty minutes later, just as he'd said he would.

"What the hell are you boys watching?" John asked, quirking an eyebrow at the cheesy soap opera music blaring from the TV.

"Hot chicks, Dad," Sam said with a grin. "We don't really know for sure, but we think the blonde with the big rack is trying to talk that dude there into offing this old guy so the two of 'em can get all of his money and have sex for a really long time. But see, the brunette—she's hot, too—is totally onto them, 'cept, no one believes her, so me and Dean think the old guy is totally gonna buy it. But probably not in this episode—they draw this shit out forever."

John eyed the screen for a moment before he suddenly smiled, his eyes lit with amusement.

"Boys, let me tell you something," he paused for a moment, making sure he had their attention before he continued. "Those two gals have _nothing_ on the redhead from _Days of Our Lives_."

_What the—? Dad watches these gay-as-hell soaps? No freakin' way!_

"You watch this shit?!" Sam asked in amazement as he stared back at their father with disbelieving eyes.

"When I've got nothin' better to do. Not often enough that I actually know what the hell is going on—that shit's too complicated to pick up in a single viewing. But your mom, she loved 'em. She'd set the VCR to record, like, three hours of soaps, and she'd watch them every afternoon when she got home from work. Hell, Sam, it's a wonder you don't have some sort of intuitive knowledge of these shows considering how often your mom watched them while she was pregnant with you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, she was on bed rest for her last couple of months with you, and all she did was watch soaps all day."

_You know, that explains a lot—no wonder Sammy's a freakin' drama queen about everything. But you know, while this whole 'bonding over the soaps' is nice and all, I'd want some food, dammit._

"So, you still want something from downstairs to eat?" John asked, turning his gaze from the TV to focus on his oldest son.

Dean nodded, struggling to maintain eye contact, but the awkwardness that had taken the place of his previously comfortable relationship with his father made it too hard, and he found himself lowering his eyes to stare uncomfortably at the remote in his hands. He heard John sigh, and he winced, waiting for the scolding he was no doubt going to receive for his weakness, but John merely stood, pulling his wallet from his back pocket.

"What do you want me to get you?"

Dean shrugged, knowing damn well that he wanted a greasy, salty cheeseburger loaded with everything except onions but unable to tell his father that.

_Why the hell can't I just say something to him—why is it so damn hard?_

"Do you want me to choose something for you?" John was asking, and Dean nodded, relieved that his father hadn't tried to force the issue, but depressed that he was likely going to end up with something he didn't want any more than he wanted the shit the nurses would be bringing.

He and Sam watched their father leave without another word, and after a second, Sam turned to Dean.

"So what did you really want?"

"Cheeseburger."

"Well, look on the bright side—you've got so many favorites that Dad's bound to get something you like. I mean, let's face it, as long as it isn't green Jell-O, you'll eat it."

"Hate green food."

"What are you talkin' about—you eat plenty of green food," Sam said, obviously gearing up for a debate. "You eat lettuce."

"Only on burgers."

"Yeah, well, you still eat it. And I've seen you chow down on that mint chocolate chip ice cream before, too, and it's green—dude, you ate like a shit-load of that stuff!"

"Shut-up."

"Hah, you're just mad 'cause you know I'm right," Sam said, a gloating smile on his face.

With a smile of his own, Dean reached over and shoved Sam's shoulder, pushing the smug thirteen-year-old right off the bed. He grinned as he peered down at his younger brother, who was sitting on the floor looking pissed as he rubbed his ass.

"Jerk!"

"Bitch," Dean told him with a grin.

"You're dead meat when you get better," Sam threatened.

"You're on."

Sam climbed to his feet, brushing himself off as the door opened, admitting a nurse pushing a lunch tray.

"Ah, you might as well not bother, ma'am—my brother won't eat it. Our dad went downstairs to get him something else."

"Young man, part of my job is to see that every patient gets a tray. Now whether they choose to eat it or not is none of my concern, but I'm going to do my job. Your brother can eat it or not—I'm not paid to make that my business."

They watched her set Dean's lunch down none-too-gently and walk briskly back out, neither of them saying a word until the door shut firmly behind her.

"What a bitch," Dean mumbled, and Sam nodded in agreement.

"You think I hurt her feelings when I said you wouldn't eat it?" Sam asked, cocking his head questioningly as his gaze remained fixed on the door.

"Who cares?"

"Well, I didn't want to hurt her feelings."

"Shoulda thrown it," Dean growled, indicating the tray with a nod of his head.

"Dean," Sam said admonishingly.

"At her," Dean added, his face set in a scowl. _Bitch shouldn't talk to my little brother like that. Might have to get her back for that one when no one's lookin'._

"Ah don't worry about it. She was probably just cranky," Sam said, hopping back onto the bed, casting Dean an apologetic look when he jostled his older brother too much. They settled back against the pillow, waiting for John to get back, neither one of them saying much as _The Young and the Restless_ gave way to _Days of our Lives. _

_Wonder if we'll see that redhead Dad was talkin' about,_ Dean wondered absently. '_Course, they're all bat-shit crazy…but still, hotness can make up for a lot._

Toying with the IV in his hand, Dean frowned, weighing the consequences he'd face if he took it out. _Might be worth it,_ he thought, fingering the tape that held it in place. _I could stand to get rid of a few of these annoying-as-hell tubes…besides, this one itches._

"What are you doing?"

"Taking it out."

"What? Dad said to leave it alone," Sam said, cocking his head as he gave Dean a pointed look.

"Dad's not here," Dean pointed out, starting to peel the tape away.

"Yeah, well if you start pulling shit out, I think he's gonna notice. And if you don't think he'll totally flip, then I'd guess again if I were you."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch." _Too bad he's right._

His hand dropped away from the tape, and he allowed Sam to smooth it back into place before rubbing at it with a disgruntled expression.

"Dean?" Sam asked after a long moment.

"Hmm?"

"Are you still mad at Dad?"

_Are you kiddin' me? There is absolutely no freakin' way that I'm indulging your need for chick-flick, pansy-ass girl moments. I've done enough of that—no more._

He shrugged, hoping Sam would take the hint and let it go. But Dean knew well enough that Sam never let _anything_ go, and if Sam truly wanted an answer, he wouldn't stop until he got one.

_Please, let him just gimme a break._

"C'mon, tell me," Sam urged, trying to coax a satisfying answer out of the older Winchester.

_Shit._

"No."

"No, you're not mad at him, or no, you won't tell me?"

"I'm not mad," Dean ground out, annoyed with his brother for his persistence and his insistence that Dean speak about something he didn't even want to _think_ about, much less talk about. _Why do I have to have a total girl for a brother? Other dudes get brothers who don't want to talk any more than they do—so how come I get to be the lucky winner of a brother who actually likes to talk about _feelings_?_

"Then how come you're still not talking to him?" Sam was saying, turning his head to stare at Dean with a gaze that was all too piercing.

"I dunno," Dean told him, and from the scoff that Sam released, Dean knew that his brother didn't believe him.

_But it's the truth. I don't really know. How do you explain something to someone else when you don't even understand it yourself? It's all too jumbled up—everything's all confused, and nothing's right, and I don't know how to tell you what's wrong, because I don't even know for sure myself. There's too much to say, and it's all mixed up—I don't know how to say it._

"Well, usually," Sam pointed out, "if you're not talking to someone, it means you're mad at them."

"I'm not mad!" Dean bit out, bringing all of the force of his "big brother stare" that he could muster to bear on the younger Winchester. Not that it did a damn bit of good, he noticed as Sam continued.

"Then, there's gotta be another reason for why you're not talking to him," Sam retorted, his tone holding a smugness that set Dean's teeth on edge.

"I just…can't," Dean muttered, feeling his shoulders slump at the admission. He found himself hoping that the forced confession would be enough for his little brother, that Sam would let that be the end of it.

_But no, that would be too easy. And we haven't had easy in this family in thirteen years—so why would now be any different?_

"You can't, or you won't?" Sam was asking, and Dean found himself fighting back an exasperated groan as the younger boy continued to stare at him expectantly.

"Can't," Dean replied through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tightly in anger as his brother calmly continued to push the issue.

"How come?"

_Dammit, Sammy! Why do you have to have an answer to everything? Why can't you just leave it the hell alone?!_

"Dean? If you tell me, maybe I can help," Sam said softly, no longer joking or being a pain-in-the-ass, and as he looked back at Dean with a searing gaze, Dean found his reluctance melting away at the concern that had taken the place of the smug persistence in his little brother's voice.

"It's too hard," Dean whispered, his fingers fiddling anxiously with the sheet as he spoke.

"What's too hard?"

"Talking to him."

"I don't understand," Sam told him, his voice filled with helpless confusion as he stared back at his older brother.

"I can see it," Dean told him, trying hard to explain something that up until that moment, he'd tried so hard not to acknowledge in words. _How do you put into words something you've never wanted to even think about in words? _

"See what?"

"The disappointment," Dean said, swallowing hard as the words emerged in barely more than a whisper. Just thinking about the words his father had said so many days ago, words that continued to echo in his mind along with the disappointment in his eyes when he'd looked at Dean, was enough to make Dean's throat tighten.

"What are you talking about, Dean?"

"I…I…I let him…down," Dean forced out, cringing with embarrassment and shame when his words once again emerged in a halted stutter.

"Dean, Dad thinks you're like 'The Golden Boy'—you couldn't let him down. I mean, yeah, you've pissed him off sometimes, but you haven't done anything that he'd hold against you."

_You have no idea, Sammy. _

"Leave…leave it…alone."

"But, Dean…"

"No! Don't…I…just don't."

"Maybe I could tell him how you feel, and then he could fix it," Sam offered. "Well, I mean, as much as he _could_ fix it—he's not real good at that sort of thing. But he'd fix it as much as he could, at least."

"No." _Talk about painful conversation. No, I can't do it, Sammy. _

"Are you sure?"

" 'm tired, Sammy," Dean told him softly, and the moment he said the words, Dean realized that they were one hundred percent true. Allowing his eyes to fall shut, Dean pulled the extra pillow up over his face and felt the darkness of sleep pulling at him.

As he floated somewhere between asleep and awake, he was distantly aware of his father returning, the vague scent of a burger wafting through the room, but realizing even then that it would take too much energy to respond, Dean lay still. _'s okay. Sammy'll handle it. Don't let him throw my food away, Sammy. _Leaving Sam to deal with their father, Dean finally let go and slept.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so there it is—a much overdue Dean chapter. Hope you all enjoyed, and thanks to all of you who reviewed! Please note that I haven't watched soap operas myself in forever, and I've never really watched _The Young and the Restless_, so Sam's synopsis of the episode and John's redhead may or may not be truthful. I just took a guess on the episode summary, and I have no idea if there's a hot redhead on _Days of our Lives. _So for those of you who are soap fans, sorry for any inaccuracy!

**zuimar**: Thanks for the review! Glad to know you enjoyed the last chapter! I'm hoping to bring Bobby more fully into the picture soon, but it may take awhile to work it in—I'll do my best!

**KitKat**: Don't worry—Dean's "big brotherness," as you called it, will make an appearance soon. I'm guess-timating that I'll be able to work it into Chapter 17. I already have several scenes in mind, one of which is in Chapter 17 already, but as the chapter isn't finished yet, things are still subject to change. Anyways, thanks for the review!

**Celtergirl**: Thanks for reviewing for me! I always appreciate it, especially when it's a reviewer I haven't heard from—gives me hope that my fic is continuing to pick up new readers. I was glad to hear that you liked Dean's silence. One of my betas didn't like that bit as much, but I just couldn't bring myself to get rid of this particular element. It's tricky though, because to make him silent risks accidentally cutting him out of the story. Which happened. Which is why we have this chapter, instead of what was originally supposed to be Chapter 16 (now Chapter 17). Anyways, I hope I was able to maintain its believability. No real twin-presence in this chapter, but they'll be back, so stay tuned!

**Hero Lilly**: Well, I had this one typed up days ago, but I didn't have my review replies typed up, and I needed to do one last check through to make sure I'd corrected everything that my betas pointed out, and on top of that, I was babysitting my four-year-old niece and my eight-month-old nephew, teaching the 5K-1st grade VBS class at my church, and dog-sitting four dogs…it caused something of a delay. Anyways, I've already gotten about 8 pages typed of Chapter 17, so I'm hoping there won't be too long a wait for the next chapter.

**WofOZ**: Your review made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside! I'm so glad that you gave my fic a chance—I knew when I went into this that I likely wouldn't get as many readers because a lot of people are vehemently opposed to sibling fics. So thanks for giving mine a go—I'm totally stoked that you liked 

it enough to pull a late-nighter to read it all in one fell swoop! Hope you enjoy this chapter as well! Let me know what you think!

**Poppyflake**: As you can probably tell, we're sort of on the tail-end of Dean's illness. He's recovering, and in the next chapter, he's going to be feeling better and starting to settle emotionally as well.

**nightingale**: Thanks for another lovely review! I'm glad you're enjoying the humorous bits! Expect the resolution of the matter of Elaine to take awhile—I've still got a ways to go before I get to it, though I have bits of a scene written. I'm still toying with it. But I don't wanna give anything away, so I'm afraid I can't tell you anything more—sorry! Anyways, hope you enjoyed the Dean-centric chapter! As always, thanks for reviewing!


	17. Reconfiguring the Status Quo

A/N: This chapter contains bits about the comic strip _Calvin and Hobbes_, which, for those of you who aren't familiar with it, is about a highly imaginative six-year-old boy named Calvin and his stuffed tiger, Hobbes, who comes to life whenever they're alone. Together, the two of them do all sorts of crazy, hilarious things, and if you've never read the strip before, you should totally check it out. All Calvin and Hobbes moments must be credited to Bill Watterson—kudos to him for the greatest comic strip of all time! OH, and last but not least—THANK YOU, CagedTroll and mimishell for being awesome betas!

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 17: Reconfiguring the Status Quo

Sam waited impatiently for the nurse to leave before turning to grin at his older brother. After almost a week, Dean had finally gotten cleared to leave, and Sam was supposed to be helping his brother finish dressing while their father filled out the necessary paperwork and talked over post-hospital care issues for Dean.

"It's about time they let you outta here—this place blows," he told Dean with a smirk as he haphazardly pulled socks onto Dean's feet. "I mean, you're lucky—at least they pumped you full of drugs while you were here. Me and Dad were bored out of our minds."

Dean shrugged one shoulder, not really commenting and Sam barely held back his sigh of disappointment. It'd been a week and Dean was still only speaking in three and four word sentences, and he'd had yet to speak to their father at all.

_Man, what did Dad say to him, anyway? _ Sam thought with a scowl. _He musta been a real asshole when he brought Dean to the hospital. I mean, okay, Dad was an asshole _before_ he brought Dean here, but at least Dean was still talkin' when they left…_

Crouched at Dean's feet, completely lost in thought, Sam forgot that he was supposed to be helping until Dean kicked him pointedly.

"Shoes," Dean murmured.

"Right," Sam said with a grin, shoving Dean's seldom-worn sneakers onto the older boy's feet and tying up the laces, while Dean stared down at them with a disgruntled expression.

"I want my boots," he grumbled, glancing down at the sneakers with barely disguised hatred. "Why'd you bring _these_?"

"_I_ didn't. Dad did, and I figured I'd let it go this time and not argue with the man. So, yeah…sorry," Sam told him, hopping back onto the bed beside him, the two of them sitting quietly together while Sam swung his feet impatiently. The silence was pretty unnerving, and Sam bit his lip, wishing his brother would say something, anything, to kill the quiet that was quickly growing downright painful.

_No, this isn't uncomfortable at all, _Sam thought sarcastically. _This isn't right—Dean oughta be making jokes and finding us something awesomely fun to do, something that Dad would totally disapprove of …he's not supposed to be sitting here all quiet and…still…and totally effed up. I mean, what am I supposed to do? It's all awkward. Time to hurry up, Dad._

John Winchester actually had a great sense of timing, so it wasn't incredibly surprising to Sam when the man strode into the room a moment later followed by a nurse pushing a wheelchair into the room.

"Ready to go, boys?"

Dean looked dubiously at the wheelchair before looking at his father, shaking his head firmly.

"Dean, we've been through this before. You know it's hospital policy—you have to ride downstairs in the wheelchair. Once we reach the car, you can ditch it."

Dean shook his head again, and John frowned, leaving Sam with no doubt that their father was going to force the issue and win.

"I'm not gonna argue about it with you, son. Now do I need to help you into that chair, or are you gonna do it on your own?"

Sam watched his brother's jaw tighten almost imperceptibly, but he had to give Dean credit for not showing anything more. _Man, Dean does that whole stoic-pissed off thing really well—I mean, if you didn't know him, you probably wouldn't even realize he was angry. Okay, you wouldn't realize until he exploded all over your ass. Then you'd know. _

Dean shifted, slowly allowing his feet to drop to the floor before he carefully stood. With a smile, the nurse wheeled the chair closer, and with a grimace, Dean plopped into the seat without a sound.

"Wait, we almost forgot," Sam said, spotting the gift-wrapped book that Aubrey and Braden had brought for Dean sitting on the bedside table, untouched since John had placed it there days ago. Having decided that hospital visits for the twins was inviting trouble, John had made brief trips back to Jim's to spend time with Aubrey and Braden and to get more books while Sam had stayed with Dean. With everything going on, Dean had never seemed to notice the gift, and somehow, it had been forgotten. And now that they were leaving the hospital, it seemed really unlikely that Dean would ever glance at it, Sam figured, but it seemed a shame to leave it here.

_Oh well, if he doesn't want it, maybe he'll let me have it. I mean, reading comic strips isn't as good as a novel, but it's better than nothing. _Snatching the brightly wrapped package, he tucked it under his arm and grabbed the rest of Dean's things, more than ready to get out of the room that had been _his_ home as much as Dean's for the last week.

They reached the car without any trouble, but it seemed to take forever to get Dean actually settled _in_ the car. Dean had taken his time, not wanting to aggravate the still healing but free-of-infection wound in his side. _And his knee must still hurt, too,_ Sam thought, eyeing the way Dean was favoring the leg, 

keeping it extended as much as he could rather than bending it. _'Course, he hasn't really gotten a chance to exercise it much…it's probably stiffened up on him by now—bet that hurts like a bitch._

But even though it seemed like it took forever to get in the car, it was probably only ten minutes at the most. Unfortunately, if he'd thought the trip to the car was bad, the actual ride back to Jim's was even worse.

_Dude, this sucks, _he thought of the painful silence. _Nobody seems to know what to say…usually, when the car is _this _quiet, it means that me and Dad are pissed off and not talking to each other, and then Dean talks or goofs off until everybody's not so pissed anymore. _

But now, it was painfully obvious that Dean still wasn't talking to their dad, and Sam was more than ready for Dean to get back to normal.

"We're gonna stay at Jim's a few more days before we get back on the road," John abruptly said, his voice cutting through the tense silence. "Unless you two and the twins wanna stay behind with Jim?"

Sam wouldn't have minded staying with Jim, but one look at Dean's face was enough to tell him what the older boy's wishes were. Dean wanted to go.

"Nah, we'll go with you," Sam replied, answering for the both of them with a barely disguised grimace.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Sam muttered, not at all certain he wanted to be cooped up with his father for the long drive from Pastor Jim's to Bobby's, but wanting to back his brother up anyway.

"Yeah?" John repeated, his tone more than enough to indicate that the less than respectful reply was not appreciated.

"Yessir," Sam bit out resentfully, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at what he saw as his dad's obsessive demand to always be addressed as 'sir.' But even if John didn't happen to glance in the rearview mirror, he just always seemed to know when Sam made a face at him from the back seat of the car.

_Should I do it anyway?_

Coupled with the painful silence from his brother, however, Sam decided not to add to the uncomfortable tension by starting something with his father this early in the game, instead keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floorboard of the car.

"Good. And Dean, as soon as you've got your strength back, we need to start workin' on that knee of yours—don't want it to stiffen up on you and quit working right."

"Dad, c'mon—he just got outta the hospital—give him a break, already!" Sam said, scowling angrily at his father's suggestion.

"Samuel," his father said, his voice taking on that 'you're pissing me off' tone that Sam was more than familiar with. But Sam had a point to make, and he wasn't quite willing to let it go yet.

"What? I'm just sayin', you should lay off him for awhile."

"If you were paying attention instead of trying to push my buttons, you would have heard me when I said 'after he's got his strength back'—now quit your bitching—I don't wanna hear it."

Slumping back against the seat, Sam crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the back of his father's head. Dean turned his head to look back at him, giving Sam a look that managed to be both scolding and pleading at the same time, but Sam could read the message loud and clear.

_Don't be a pain-in-the-ass, Sammy._

_Yeah, Dean, I get it._

* * *

Sitting on the couch with Dean, Sam sighed with contentment, glad to be out of the stifling hospital room, but mostly glad to be away from sharing such close quarters with their dad. John had disappeared with Jim into the study once Dean had been settled, the two men resuming the search through Pastor Jim's books for anything more on Minions. From the moment they'd walked in, Aubrey had immediately attached herself to John's side, so Sam figured she was in there with them. And as for Braden…well, Sam wasn't sure where Braden was, but the little boy seemed more than capable of amusing himself, so Sam wasn't too worried.

"So did Dad tell you about the Minion?" Sam asked, his eyes never leaving the TV screen that was currently showing the bright, garish colors of _The Simpsons_, one of the many shows that Pastor Jim had expressed his disapproval of long ago and would no doubt ask them to turn off if he saw them watching it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean shake his head, turning to look at Sam with a curious expression.

"He thinks that might be what took the twins' mom. But he hasn't been able to get much more than the name, and it's pissing him off—that's why he's been more of an asshole than usual. And that's why we're going to see Uncle Bobby, too, 'cause you know, he has weird-ass books on everything. Dad's hoping Uncle Bobby'll be able to tell him more."

Just then, they heard a door open down the hall, and a second later, John appeared in the doorway, pushing Aubrey ahead of him with a hand on her shoulder.

"Here, stay in here with your brothers."

"But I wanna help you and Pastor Jim find books, Daddy!" Aubrey said earnestly, holding onto John's hand without any inclination of letting go.

"No."

"Why can't I help?" she asked, staring up at their father with slumped shoulders and a disappointed expression.

"Because you're driving me bat-shit crazy, Aubrey—" he told her frankly, and Sam couldn't really hide his smile at his father's response, a prime example of John Winchester's own brand of brutally honest parenting.

"John, it's about time we took a break anyway," Pastor Jim cut in, appearing behind John with a glimmer of humor in his eyes.

"I don't need a break," John said abruptly. "I need a moment's peace to look through your books without someone interrupting me every five minutes to harass me about headless Barbies and missing crayons."

"We need to stop for dinner anyway—I'm sure we could all use something in our stomachs. I'll go take care of dinner, and you can sit down with your children and spend some time with them."

_Aw, don't tell him _that_, Pastor Jim! I've already spent way too much time with my dad over the past week—I don't think we need any more 'together-time'. _

"Jim, I've been stuck in a hospital room with two of my children for about a week now—we've spent enough time together, trust me," John told him dryly.

_Yeah, you tell him, Dad_, Sam thought with a nod_._

"Yes, well you also have two other children who haven't had the joy of your company—spend time with _them_."

Sam snorted, stifling it quickly as he caught his father glaring at him. _The joy of his company, yeah right, Pastor Jim._

"Not to mention," Jim continued, "they haven't exactly gotten an opportunity to get to know their brothers very well," Jim said patiently, shooting Sam a look, a hint of a smile on his face. "So, have a seat, John. Aubrey, why don't you go find Braden now, and the two of you can come spend some quality time with your family."

Sam's groan echoed his father's almost exactly, the two of them on the exact same page for the first time in, well, ages as Jim disappeared into the kitchen and Aubrey hurried off to find Braden, Dean looking on wordlessly.

"Dad?"

"What, Sam?"

"I think this is Pastor Jim's idea of payback, you know, for me and you stickin' him with the twins for so long," Sam told his father gravely. He eyed his father, waiting to see what the man would say. John was quiet for a moment, and Sam was beginning to think that he wouldn't respond at all when John finally spoke.

"Sam?"

"Sir?"

"I think you're right."

At that moment, Aubrey returned, running into the room at breakneck speed with a familiar gift-wrapped package in her hands as she headed straight for the couch with Braden right behind her, only to come to a sudden halt in front of Dean, the two of them standing there together in eerily similar fashion.

"Dean, look what we found! You forgot about it! But that's okay, 'cause we forgot about it, too," she said graciously, squishing her way onto the couch in between Sam and Dean so she could sit in the middle. With a sigh, Sam slid over a bit to give her room, ignoring his older brother's dirty look as the little girl wiggled until she was nestled snugly at Dean's side. Braden took a seat on the other side of Dean, perching comfortably on the armrest of the couch, smiling up at his older brother as he swung his feet happily over the edge. Dean looked none too thrilled to have a twin on either side of him, but he didn't say anything as Aubrey placed the present in his lap with a flourish.

"We got it for you a long time ago, when you was still in the hospital. But we didn't get to give it to you, 'cause Daddy told us to wait, and then I was sad, and Pastor Jim brought us back here and then he didn't bring us back to the hospital no more. And well, now you're better, so it's not really a 'Get Well' present anymore, but that's okay, 'cause you can still open it!"

Sam eyed his brother, wondering if Dean would open it, or if he'd just hand it back to her and leave.

_Dad would be so pissed if Dean gave it back to her…of course, he could probably still play the whole 'I'm sick so I shouldn't be punished' card with Dad and get away with it. But then again…Dad's been pretty pissy lately, so maybe he wouldn't let Dean get away with it after all…_

Dean must have come to the same conclusion, Sam realized, as Dean sighed and slowly began to tug the brightly colored ribbon off of the package, peeling the paper off with slow, measured movements, basically drawing the moment out so long that Sam wanted nothing more than to grab the gift from Dean's hands and tear it open in one glorious moment of flying ribbon and shredded paper. _As freakin' impatient as we all are, Dean, just rip it open already! You always take forever to open a present! _

Sam much preferred to tear into a gift as fast as possible, ripping into the wrapping paper in as little time as possible, leaving behind nothing but useless strips of gaily colored paper. But as much as he wanted to open the gift Dean was so painstakingly unwrapping, Sam couldn't begrudge his brother the chance to open it. He'd long suspected that Dean took so long because it was such a rare occasion for him to get a wrapped gift that he wanted to savor it for as long as possible. Sam imagined that he could literally see Dean's mind working, the slow methodical movement of his hands matching the way his mind was capturing the moment, storing the memory in protective layers of mental bubble-wrap so that he could hold onto it. Sam also suspected that there just weren't a whole lot of those types of memories for his older brother to store.

Feeling Aubrey's elbow suddenly dig into his side, Sam brought his attention back to the matter at hand, shifting over so that his sister didn't hit him again. _Looks like Aubrey's more like me than Dean when it comes to presents,_ he thought with a grin as he watched her practically vibrate with excitement and impatience, bouncing up and down on the couch cushion as Dean finally peeled the last of the wrapping off.

"It's a book," Aubrey told him unnecessarily, beaming up at him happily as he stared down at the book with a slightly puzzled expression. He glanced up at Sam, his eyes gazing back at Sam with a familiar '_What the hell?'_ expression.

_Yeah, Dean, I know—I asked the same question when she picked it out._

"Aubby, he can_ see_ that it's a book," Braden was telling her pointedly, shaking his head at her statement.

"Okay, it's a _funny_ book," she clarified. "Here, Dean, I'll show you," she told him, lifting the book out of Dean's hands and opening it to the first page of the book. Setting the open book on her lap, she began to read haltingly, her finger moving slowly from word to word.

But after only one dialogue box in the comic-strip book, Aubrey looked up with an annoyed expression. Picking up the book, she reached across Dean and dropped the book into Braden's lap.

"You do it, Bray—you read better than me."

Without a word, Braden shifted the book over so that Dean could see it better, the little boy frowning down at the page before flipping ahead a few pages.

"I like this one more," he told Dean quietly, infinitely more placid than his sister as he pointed to a particular strip that consisted of several snowmen standing around a fourth snowman who had been constructed to appear as though it had been struck by the car in the picture, the snowman in question lying in pieces in front of the car's bumper. Braden giggled at the picture and the words that accompanied it, and Sam shared a look with his father who shrugged with that '_It could be worse_' sort of look on his face, a sentiment that Sam agreed with completely. _Yeah, they could be focusing on _us _instead of Dean. So by all means, Braden, keep reading._

"Oh, this one looks good, too—I'll read it to you," Braden was telling Dean, and Sam abruptly tuned back in, craning his neck so he could see the pictures. It showed Calvin and Hobbes eating breakfast together, Calvin staring down at an empty cereal bowl with a contemplative expression.

The little boy began to read, his pace quicker than his sister's as his finger moved along the page in time with the words he spoke. But then again, he obviously had a lot more patience than Aubrey, so Sam didn't find it especially hard to believe that Braden would have more patience to sit still and practice reading than his bouncy, energetic sister.

"And see, Dean, here, Hobbes says, 'Sort of a tran—,'"

Here, Braden came to an abrupt halt, staring down at the next word uncertainly, his lips moving silently as he tried to break the word down. Sam was about to lean over to help him out when the unexpected happened.

"Transcendental," Dean murmured.

"Oh, okay, thanks—that was a tricky one," Braden said, looking up at his big brother gratefully before returning his gaze to the book. He finished the strip a second later, but Sam wasn't paying attention anymore. He was smiling, and when he glanced at John, he saw that his father was smiling, too.

Dean didn't acknowledge the fact that he'd finally spoken in his father's presence for the first time in a week or that he was intentionally interacting with his new siblings, or maybe he just didn't realize he'd done it. _Doesn't really matter, though…either way, things are gonna be okay now,_ Sam thought, recognizing the importance of what had just happened. It was a small step, he knew, and things were nowhere near great, and it sure as hell didn't mean that Dean was suddenly going to be back to his old self. But at least there was hope for things getting back to normal. _Well…a new normal, I guess…our old normal plus two. Dean'll start talking more again, and it'll feel like Aubrey and Braden are part of our family…so long as Dad doesn't screw it up and Aubrey and Bray don't piss him off in the next few days…_

_Hmm…how likely is that? _

* * *

After a semi-awkward dinner wherein Aubrey chattered to fill the silence and Dean picked disinterestedly at his food, they'd all started settling in for the night. Following along behind Jim, John had disappeared into the study once again, murmuring a quick "good night" and warning them to keep the noise down before he vanished behind the closed door of Pastor Jim's study. Actually, what he'd said was "If I have to come back in here, I'm gonna be pissed off, and someone's ass will be stinging before it's all said and done. Keep the noise down. Lights and TV off by 11:30, boys."

And with no room for misunderstanding, Sam had pulled out the sofa bed, and he and Dean had staked their claims on their usual sides, while the twins made a messy pallet on the floor nearby. Pajamas were donned and while Dean started channel surfing and Braden settled on his stomach with his sketchbook, Aubrey poured her crayons out beside him, coloring contentedly in one of her many coloring books, though from what little Sam could see, she was none too particular about staying within the lines. With an amused smirk, Sam made himself comfortable, easily filtering out the twins' soft murmurings and the noise from the TV that he knew would probably be on for hours, as he felt himself sinking comfortably into the mattress.

_Not too bad for a sofa-bed mattress…man, I love stayin' here at Pastor Jim's._ He sighed, enjoying the feel of the sheets that he knew for a fact were fresh and clean. _Yep, no left-over stale, smoke smells on _Pastor Jim's_ sheets. Man, I'm tired…If I fall asleep this early, is Dean gonna call me a pansy? _

It was only seven-thirty, Sam knew, but he just couldn't keep his eyes open, the days of sleeping scrunched up on the edge of a hospital bed having finally taken their toll. _Ah, screw it._

"Night, Dean," he murmured softly, his eyes closing almost of their own accord.

"Night, Sammy," Dean told him back, and before Sam knew what was happening, he was asleep.

* * *

Sam was sleeping in relative peace when he felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him out of a pleasant dream involving a scavenger hunt, a library, and a golden retriever named Rifle.

"Mmm," Sam grumbled, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face in the pillow. _Leave me 'lone…gotta find the book. Go get it, Rifle…_

"Sammy?"

_Shh, we're in the library…_

"Sammy, wake up."

In the back of his mind, Sam vaguely recognized the voice as his older brother's, but it wasn't enough to make him want to open his eyes. No, it was the fist slamming into his arm a second later that did that, bringing Sam fully awake in a moment of sheer panic only to see Dean staring at him pointedly.

"OW! What the hell was that for?!" he yelled, jerking away from his older brother as he rubbed at his now aching bicep. Scowling, he looked back over his shoulder at his brother, who was still looking at him, his eyes tired as he glowered at Sam.

"Go move it."

"Go move what, Dean?" Sam asked shortly, too annoyed at being woken up at two in the morning to ask nicely.

"Now, Sammy," Dean said adamantly.

"Dude, what are you talking about? Are you running a fever again? 'Cause you're not making a hell of a lot of sense right now!"

With an annoyed sigh, Dean grabbed Sam's jaw, turning his head until his eyes were facing the dark corner.

"_What_, Dean?" Sam asked, wondering irritably just exactly what it was that he was supposed to be seeing.

"That. Go move it."

Squinting, Sam stared into the dark corner only to groan when he realized what Dean was pointing at.

"Man, it's just Boo. He's in a freakin' cage—he's not gonna mess with you."

" 'm not sleepin' in the room with it. Go move it," Dean told him, punching Sam in the arm again none too gently.

"Cut it out! I can't believe you freakin' woke me up for that! Go move it yourself," Sam snarled, none too willing to cater to his brother's quirks in the middle of the night.

"I'm not touching it."

"Well then it looks like you're gonna have to just deal with it, cause I'm going back to sleep."

"Don't fuck with me—go move it," Dean said angrily.

"No," Sam said, jerking away from his brother grumpily. "It's late, and I'm tired, and you're being stupid. Boo's in a cage, and he's not out to get you. So go to sleep." With that, Sam turned to go back to the bed, only to feel Dean's hand yank him back in a grip strong enough to rival their father's.

"Sam? What're ya'll doin'?"

"Nice, Dean, now you woke Aubrey up!" Sam said with a groan, as the little girl sat up, rubbing her eyes as she stared at them in confusion.

"I don't care. Do what I told you," Dean ordered, punctuating the order with another punch to the arm.

"OW, quit it!" Sam said, punching him back, careful despite his irritation not to hit Dean in the side.

"Not until you move it," Dean retorted, returning the punch ten-fold.

"Sam?" Aubrey asked again, and that's when Sam noticed the opportunity staring him in the face.

"Hey, quit it for a second, Dean. Aubrey, can _you_ go move Boo into the kitchen?" Sam asked, turning his head to stare at his sister hopefully. Dean, sensing the opportunity as well, stilled, waiting to see if Sam could convince the little girl.

"Um…in the kitchen?"

"Yeah."

"But…it's dark in there…"

"Just turn on a light," Sam told her, trying his damnedest to cajole her into doing it so that they could all go back to sleep.

"Well, can't you come with me?"

"Aw, c'mon, Aub, that defeats the purpose if I have to go with you."

"I don't wanna do it. Not by myself."

"Wake Braden up and get him to go with you," Sam told her reasonably, all the while realizing that he was being pretty stupid to try this hard to get her to do it, when he was, by this point, awake enough to do it himself. _But, hell, this is about pride now—I'm not getting up to move the hamster now no matter how awake I am._

"Um…well, he's sleeping pretty hard…but if you're scared, Sam, why don't you get Dean to do it?"

"I'm not scared," Sam told her defensively. "Dean's the one making a big effing deal about not wanting to sleep in the same room as a hamster," Sam retorted, regretting it immediately as his brother's fist smashed into his shoulder blade.

"Ow, shit!" Sam hollered, realizing at that moment just how adamant Dean was going to be and how much he really wasn't in the mood for Sam's mouthy remarks. He hauled back his fist to retaliate when the light suddenly flipped on, revealing a very disgruntled looking John Winchester.

_Uh-oh._

"Hi, Daddy," Aubrey said happily, not seeming to realize just how pissed off their father looked.

"Aubrey, lay down and go back to sleep," John said sternly, before turning the full focus of his stare on the two boys. "Somebody start talking--what the hell is going on in here?"

"Dean started it!" Sam said, his shoulder blade hurting enough that he had no compunctions about placing the blame squarely on his older brother's shoulders.

_Nope, not sacrificing my ass just 'cause Dean wants to start shit in the middle of the night over a freakin' hamster._

"Dean, is that what happened?"

True to form, Dean didn't say anything, casting a dark look at his little brother before offering a meager shrug. With an undecipherable look, John turned away from Dean, bringing the full force of his gaze on Sam.

"Sam, I'm tired as hell, and I'm not in the mood for guessing games—now what the hell are you two doing in here?"

"Dean woke me up just because he doesn't want to sleep in here with Boo—he wanted me to get up and move the cage, but I'm tired too, so I told him no, and that's when he started punching me! And I'm sorry we woke you up, but that shit hurts!"

"Are you kidding me?" John asked, his voice deadpan as he stared back at them incredulously. "You boys are in here fighting over that damn hamster?"

_Okay, well, when you put it like that…_

"Dammit, boys! Samuel, why didn't you just move him like your brother asked?"

"Well…cause…well, he didn't ask! He just _told _me to do what he wanted," Sam argued, realizing even as he said it how weak it was. And it obviously wasn't jiving with his dad either, as a dark look slid over the older man's face. "He should've asked," Sam said weakly, looking away after a moment, unable to meet his father's eyes any longer. _Dammit, Dean—why'd you have to make a big deal about a stupid hamster! _

"So let me get this straight, your brother wanted you to move the hamster, and because he didn't _ask _you, you decided to be a punk about it and start an argument in the middle of the night? Did I get all that right?"

_You don't have to make it sound so stupid,_ Sam thought with a scowl_. I didn't see him gettin' his ass outta bed! And it's totally stupid for him to be freaking out about something that's no bigger than his hand. _

"I wouldn't really call it arguing," Sam told him, knowing he was being completely stupid for continuing to argue, but unwilling to let the matter go completely.

"What would you call it then?"

"Um…a brotherly discussion?"

"Huh, that's funny. Because I'd call it an escalating scuffle where your brother was about to hand you your ass on a platter. You're lucky I came in when I did, because hurt or not, when he had you pinned and in a prime position to land a few hits, you'd have been up shit-creek without a paddle, and no doubt I'd be more pissed off than I already am when you started yelling for help. Now if you don't start picking your battles better than this, Samuel, things are gonna get pretty damn uncomfortable for you in the next few years. Now, was hauling your ass out of bed for one damn minute really worth starting shit with your brother in the middle of the fucking night?"

"No sir," Sam grumbled, annoyed that his father had left him no room to argue any further. _I don't know what the hell _you're _talking about—it's not like you're all that great at picking your battles either, Dad. You start shit all the time._

"And Dean, if you punch your brother again tonight, _I'm_ gonna get involved, and I don't think either one of you wants that to happen. Now quit making a big deal out of that hamster—it's contained, and it can't get to you," John said darkly, and Sam couldn't hold back a wince at the level of 'pissed-off-ness" in his father's voice. "Now, it's late, and I'm tired—I'm going back to bed, and I don't wanna hear another sound from this room, understand?"

"Yessir," Sam muttered, answering for both himself and his brother, because he knew Dean sure as hell wasn't about to break his silence _now._

Dean nodded, casting one last dark look at Sam before he threw off the blankets and came to his feet, grabbing his pillow and starting somewhat unsteadily for the front door, obviously planning to go sleep somewhere else. _Probably the Impala_, Sam guessed, shaking his head ruefully. _Sleepin' in the freakin' car because you're scared of a hamster being in the same room as you is completely stupid_.

"Dude, c'mon—the hamster's not gonna get you, and if you sleep in the car, you're gonna feel shitty in the morning!" Sam called after him. Casting a look at their dad, Sam cringed when he saw the dark look on their father's face.

_And there goes the last bit of Dad's patience…not that he had much to begin with...But yeah, what little he had is definitely gone._

"Dean, get your ass back in the bed, now," John ground out angrily, and Sam cringed. "This is fucking ridiculous, and I'm _tired_ of it. Both of you cut the shit, and don't get up again," John ordered, and Dean stilled, not looking back at his father as he slowly turned back around and came back to the sofa-bed, sliding under the covers without looking at anyone. Sam bit his lip, cringing when Dean refused to meet his gaze, curling up on his side facing away from Sam.

"Don't make me come back in here," John warned them as he flipped the light switch, plunging the room into darkness once again as he started back to bed.

Sam was holding his breath, waiting for their father to disappear back into the guest bedroom down the hall when Aubrey suddenly sat back up, calling out for the older man with a hint of panic in her voice.

_Dammit, Aub, don't call him back! He's pissed off enough as it is!_

"What, Aubrey?" John asked wearily.

"You'll still be here when we wake up, right? I mean, you're not goin' anywhere, are you?"

"Only place I'm going right now is back to bed, and I suggest you do the same."

"But you'll be here?"

"Yeah."

"'kay," she said, flopping back down and rolling over until she was once again back-to-back with Braden. With that, John turned and started back down the hallway. Sam waited until he heard the guest bedroom door shut behind their father before he rolled, turning to face Dean.

"Dean? Are you mad at me?" he whispered quietly, a worried frown creasing his brow when Dean didn't answer. "I can go move Boo if you really want me to," he offered, hating it when Dean was angry at him.

"It's too late. Dad'll hear you."

"I'll be real quiet."

"He'll know."

"But—"

"Forget it."

Sam fell silent, feeling guilt well up as he reconsidered what had just happened.

_Shit. Why didn't I just move the stupid cage when I had the chance? Now, there's no way I can do it, and Dean's not gonna sleep tonight, 'cause he sure as hell meant what he said when he said he wouldn't sleep in the same room with it…and that's gonna make tomorrow real fun…yeah, great goin', Sam._

"Bray, wake up—I need you."

The whispered words jerked Sam out of his mental berating and he turned his head to see Aubrey shaking Braden awake. The little boy grudgingly rolled over, his eyes shining brightly in the moonlight drifting through the window as he stared back at his sister in confusion.

"We gotta move Boo to the kitchen, so's Dean and Sam can sleep…but it's dark in there, so come with me, okay?" she whispered softly to him, and Braden nodded. Without another word, he allowed her to pull him to his feet. His hand held firmly in hers, she led the way across the room until they reached the corner of the room where Boo's cage was. Sam watched Aubrey lift the cage into her arms soundlessly, Braden waiting patiently for her as she shifted the weight around until it was equally distributed. Without speaking, Braden headed for the kitchen, Aubrey close on his heels, and after only a minute, they returned, sliding wordlessly back under their blankets.

"G'night, Dean, g'night, Sam," Aubrey whispered into the dark silence.

And no one was more surprised than Sam when Dean mumbled back.

"Night, Aubrey."

* * *

The next few days were uneventful, and if Dean didn't really interact much with the twins, he was at least tolerating them. He didn't quite ignore them, Sam noticed, but he didn't really try to engage them either. Still, it was better than the outright hostility and that weird uncomfortable-ness that had been there before. Aubrey's attempt to placate Dean by moving the hamster had done wonders to erase most of that, leaving behind an at least semi-comfortable atmosphere that was, Sam thought, acceptable. Unfortunately, the tension between his brother and their father that remained was enough to make things just as uncomfortable as before.

_And Dad's been a total ass lately. I bet Pastor Jim's glad we're leaving—much more of Dad's temper, and even a guy like Pastor Jim would probably lose his cool. Hell, add in a couple of eight-year-olds, and it's sort of a miracle Pastor Jim hasn't already lost it. Still, if anything was gonna make the man lose it, it would be Dad. _

Pastor Jim had once said that John Winchester could test the patience of a saint, and though Sam had a feeling the older man had never intended for that remark to be heard, Sam had nevertheless wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment.

_It's probably because he's ready to get out of here…he gets more pissed off than usual when he's anxious to move on. Makes him edgy. I hope he's not gonna be a complete asshole on the trip, though. 'Cause with Dean not talking in front of him, there's no one to take the edge off him. Unless Aubrey or Braden decide to step up to the plate and give it a go._

"Sam, quit messin' around and go get in the damn car!"

_Why do I get the feeling this trip's gonna be as bad as I thought?_

"Alright, I'm coming!" he yelled back at his father, grabbing the last of his "things to do on long-ass drives" before running for the car. He wasn't surprised to find Dean already in the front passenger seat and the twins buckled into the backseat. Aubrey was once again happily coloring in her endless supply of coloring books, and Braden was already beginning to drift off, John having learned the lesson well that he needed to dope his youngest son up on Dramamine _before_ they left.

And apparently, that wasn't the only lesson that John had learned from their previous trip, as he reached the car and wordlessly unbuckled Aubrey, leading her back to the house with a command to go use the bathroom.

"But, Daddy, I don't have to go," Sam heard her say as John pushed her ahead of him through the front door. Sam laughed, turning to see Dean smirking as well.

"You know, as annoying as it sorta is, it's gonna be funny as hell watchin' Dad try to deal with this shit," Sam said with a grin.

"Yeah."

Sam smiled, beginning to move his foot to dig into his backpack, only to scowl when he hit Boo's cage, which was sitting in the floorboard.

"Dammit, can't we put this up front, Dean? There's no room to move back here," he said, knowing good and well that hell would freeze over before Dean allowed Boo onto the front seat.

"No. The trunk's ok, though," Dean told him, throwing a grin over his shoulder before a contemplative look crossed his face, and he turned back around to look at Sam. "Hey. If we put it in the trunk…would it die?"

"Um…I dunno. It's pretty hot in there, and there's probably not a lot of air…but then again, it's a hamster—how much air does it need? But who knows? Maybe."

With a thoughtful nod, Dean turned back around, reaching suddenly for John's journal.

"Whatcha doin'?" Sam asked, trying to see what the older boy was looking at in John's journal.

"Nothin'," Dean replied cryptically, and Sam frowned.

"C'mon, tell me!"

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, John returned with Aubrey, the little girl jumping into the car as John slid into the front seat. Dean quickly tossed their father's journal back onto the seat before the older man could see, and Sam hid a smile when the older man remained oblivious. Only Dean had a chance at getting one over on their father, but his success rate was less than great. _He better hope Dad doesn't find out he was snooping in his journal, because Dad would be pissed…_

Dean surreptitiously cast a warning look back at Sam, to which Sam replied with a nod as John started the engine.

_Yeah, don't worry, big brother. I won't say anything. So long as we're real clear that you owe me one later,_ Sam thought with a smile. With a last wave at Pastor Jim, Sam settled back into the seat, opening his book to where he'd left off the day before as the Impala backed out of the driveway for the latest in a long list of road trips.

* * *

They pulled over to eat a late lunch at what Dean always called a "sit-down restaurant," but which was only slightly nicer than their usual roadside fast-food fare. With John carrying a still half-asleep Braden, Sam held Aubrey's hand as they crossed the parking lot, feeling like a total dork but unwilling to argue with his father's command to do so. Dean smirked at him behind John's back, and Sam flipped him off, wincing when John caught the action in the reflection from one of the restaurant's windows.

"Manners in public, boys," John said sternly, and neither of them argued, knowing well enough that their dad didn't put up with shit in public. In private, Sam's one-finger salute wouldn't have even merited a raised eyebrow from John, but in public, it would definitely mean trouble.

They settled into a booth, Braden slumped against the wall, sandwiched in by John and Aubrey, Sam sitting opposite the little boy with Dean sitting on the outside beside him. It was a quiet meal, but relatively pleasant, the only noise generated by John as he tried to rouse Braden enough to eat.

"Dad, maybe you shouldn't give him so much of that Dramamine—that shit messes him up," Sam said bluntly. "I mean, look at him—he can't even sit up."

"Better than him pukin' in my car," Dean mumbled, and Sam's eyebrows shot up at the same time that John's did. Sam's gaze shot to his father, praying the older man wouldn't make a big deal out of Dean speaking. It was the first time he'd spoken more than a word in their father's presence since he'd gotten to the hospital, but if John commented on it, Sam knew the change would be short-lived.

_Just let it go…act normal, Dad. Quick, change the subject._

"So, Dad…um, how come we're traveling south instead of west?" he blurted out, glad that he'd actually said something intelligent instead of the first stupid thing that came to mind.

"What?"

"Well, isn't it quicker to get on Interstate 90? I mean, that's how we usually get to Uncle Bobby's place from Pastor Jim's. So how come we're on 80 headed southeast?"

"We're not going to Bobby's, Sam. Where did you get that idea?"

"But, when you were on the phone with him, it sounded like we were gonna meet up with him."

"First of all, when I was on the phone with him, what we discussed was _my_ business, not yours. Second of all, that's what happens when you eavesdrop—you get it into your head that you know what the hell you're talking about when you don't. So from now on, don't."

"Well, if we're not going to Uncle Bobby's, where are we going?"

"Back to South Carolina."

"Why the hell are we going back there?" Sam complained, his mind immediately recalling how uncomfortably hot it was there.

"Excuse me?" John asked, lifting an eyebrow at Sam's less than respectful tone as well as the question.

"Are we going back to our house, Daddy?" Aubrey asked excitedly, diverting John's attention with ease and not even realizing it. _Thanks, Aubrey._

"Well, I am. You're not."

"I'm not?"

"No."

"Then where will I be?"

"You and your brothers will stay behind at the motel."

"So you're going back there to do what?" Sam asked, curious now. "And what about Uncle Bobby—I thought he was gonna help out or something. Is this another one of those times where you called him for information but you're not actually gonna tell him what you're doin' with it?"

"Samuel, your mouth is about to get you into trouble, and I'm just about tired of it."

"You goin' alone?" Dean suddenly asked softly, his eyes worried as he glanced up at John for a moment before dropping his gaze back down to his plate.

"No. Bobby's gonna meet us there. He'll have my back in case we come across anything. At this point, we're not even sure if we'll find anything," John said, and Sam hid a smile as he watched Dean nod.

_Awesome—not only did I get my questions answered but I didn't have to say a damn thing more. And even better, Dean's startin' to loosen up a bit, and that's a relief—it's gettin' pretty damn annoying to have to do all the digging for info by myself._

Sam resumed eating, and John followed suit, the tension in his large frame dissipating as the friction between them all eased a bit. The waitress appeared then to take their orders, and John was soon busy trying to help Braden and Aubrey order, Braden more asleep than awake as Aubrey told John what the little boy would want.

The opportunity for any further arguing was lost as the chaos of sorting out orders and drinks and appeasing everyone's hunger became the major concerns at the table. Much to Sam's surprise, they finished eating in relative peace, and before he knew it, their father had paid the bill and was herding everyone towards the restrooms. But as they reached the restrooms in the back corner of the restaurant, Sam felt a sense of foreboding welling up as he watched Aubrey begin to inch closer and closer to John.

_Not to sound like one of the dudes in _Star Wars_, but…I've got a bad feeling about this._

"Daddy, I don't wanna go," she said suddenly, grabbing onto one of John's belt loops with her fingers as she stared up at him imploringly.

_And that would be why._

"Don't start that shit, Aubrey. You need to go before we leave, and we're leaving in just a few minutes," John told her sternly, casting a look around to make certain no one was close enough to watch the situation that was developing.

"But Daddy, I don't wanna go by myself," she whispered.

"Tough," John replied, trying to nudge her into the women's restroom, but having no luck as she turned and attached herself to him, her arms latched securely around his waist.

"But…can't _you_ just take me? I can go in the boys' bathroom—I'll close my eyes, and I won't peek, I swear it!"

"We are _not_ gonna do this again," John said harshly, lowering his voice so as not to be overheard. "You're gonna have to go alone, and you _will_ go while we're here because I'm not having a repeat of what happened the last time you decided not to go. Now you get it together and stop making a scene. I'll wait right here for you."

Sam bit his lip, uncomfortable as Aubrey's eyes filled with tears. She eyed the restroom door, and even though Sam didn't understand her reluctance at all, he could tell she really _was_ as scared as she let on. Sam glanced at his brothers, waiting to see if one of them would help out, but Dean merely shifted impatiently, leaning back against the wall in between the water fountain and the phone as Braden leaned drowsily against John's other side, watching through veiled eyes to see what would unfold.

_C'mon, somebody do something! Dean, help me out here—we can't just let Dad be a total jerk to her—it's not right. _But nobody moved, and with a sigh, Sam turned back to his father and sister. _Guess it's up to me to stick it to Dad. Again. Hell, why am I surprised? _

"Let me talk to her, Dad," Sam said, dropping to one knee in front of her so he could whisper softly to her. As John wordlessly stepped back and heaved a frustrated sigh, Aubrey stared back at Sam pitifully, her chin trembling as she gazed back at him with tearful eyes.

"Aub, Dad's gonna be a total ass about this—there's no way in hell he's gonna let this go, you know. And I don't think you'll be able to hold out for long. So, how about it, huh? C'mon, it's just a bathroom," he told her earnestly, placing a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "Look, what's the worst that could happen?" Sam asked her encouragingly, hating to see her so upset, even if he did think it was pretty ridiculous.

"Everybody could disappear. You hafta be careful, Sam, 'cause people disappear if you're not lookin'," she murmured. "If I go in the bathroom by myself, you and Daddy and Braden and Dean might disappear," she whispered, the tears she'd been trying to fight back spilling down her cheeks then.

"Aubrey, people don't just disappear," he told her with an indulgent smile, shaking his head earnestly.

"My mama did."

And as she gazed back at him with sad eyes, the shattered expression on her face was strong enough to make Sam's own heart ache.

_Shit. I can't let Dad make her go alone—he doesn't understand. Okay, change of plans,_ he decided resolutely, figuring that if he couldn't talk her into going alone, he'd just have to talk his dad into changing his mind.

"Dad, couldn't Bray go in with her?" he asked, standing up to face his father head-on. "I mean, he's still little enough," he told him, silently pleading with John to agree. _Please, Dad, just say yes—you didn't see her face. You didn't hear what she just said. Say yes._

"Look, if they were four, it'd be different, but they're eight years old—Braden's too old to be going in the women's restroom."

"Well, nobody's looking. Couldn't we just—"

"We are not arguing about this, Samuel, and that's it. I'm in no mood to deal with the fall-out if some woman decides to bitch about a boy being in the Ladies' Room. There's nothing we can do about it, so she's gonna have to learn to handle it."

"But, Dad, she's scared," Sam retorted, unwilling to let the matter go so quickly, especially with Aubrey staring back at them with tears running down her face as she remained glued to John's side.

"Do you think I don't realize that, Samuel?" John asked, his voice tight with anger as he stared back at Sam with a dark expression. "It's pretty damn obvious that she's scared. But there's not a whole hell of a lot I can do about it, and until the day comes where you or I can grow the necessary female parts, Aubrey's up shit creek without a paddle when it comes to this whole restroom thing. So stop bitching at me and—"

"This is fucking stupid," Dean said suddenly, straightening from his slouched position against the wall and moving forward impatiently. "Let's go, Aubrey," he said, motioning with his head for her to come with him.

"What are you doing?" John asked, glancing back at him in confusion as Aubrey let go of him and launched herself at Dean, clinging to his hand fearfully as though she was waiting for John to protest.

"Taking care of this," Dean said quietly as he turned his back and led her down the hall towards the Ladies' Room. Leaving his dad to steer Braden into the Men's Room, Sam followed Dean and Aubrey, wondering what the hell his older brother was going to do.

"Are you actually gonna go in the _Ladies' Room_?" he asked, catching up with Dean's slower pace easily.

"Don't be stupid, Sammy."

"Then what are you gonna do?"

"I've got it covered."

When they reached the door of the women's restroom, Dean stopped, pulling Aubrey to the side of the door fractionally.

"Take one of your shoes off," he said quietly.

_What the hell?_

"How come?" Aubrey asked, the confusion on her face mirroring Sam's own as they both stared up at their older brother.

"Trust me."

"O-kay," Aubrey replied, the uncertainty in her voice apparent as she sank to the carpet to take off her shoe. She placed it in Dean's outstretched hand, and without a word, Dean pushed open the door to the restroom, dropping her shoe into the doorway before turning back to her.

"Go on in and do your thing—Sammy and me will stay right here. The shoe will keep the door from closing all the way. You can talk to us while you're in there, so you'll know we haven't disappeared, okay?"

Sam turned to gauge her reaction, watching as she considered Dean's plan before suddenly smiling, throwing her arms around Dean's waist before running into the restroom.

"You're still there, right?" she called out as the door caught on her shoe, holding it open fractionally as she disappeared inside.

"Yep," Dean answered.

"What about now?" she asked a second later, and Sam groaned, smacking his forehead with one hand.

"This is embarrassing," he muttered, even as Dean answered Aubrey with another "Yep." "People are gonna think we're nuts."

"Yeah, well, I've had to do weird shit for _you_ before," Dean replied. "So suck it up."

Aubrey continued to reassure herself that they were still there, and after several women eyed the two of them and Aubrey's shoe with strange looks as they passed by to go inside the restroom, Sam decided to leave Dean to it and go on back to the Men's Room.

As Sam pushed the door of the Men's Room open, he marveled at how quickly Dean managed to handle things. It had always been like that, for as long as Sam could remember. Their dad would get his panties in a bunch about something, and Dean would always find a way to take care of it.

"Is your brother taking care of things with Aubrey?" John asked as he washed his hands and waited for Braden to do the same.

"Yes sir," Sam replied. _Cause that's what he does. He takes care of things. _

"Good. We'll meet you all back at the car. Don't take too long."

"Okay."

John left with Braden a moment later, and Sam finished taking care of business himself, foregoing the paper towel dispenser as he wiped his hands on his shorts and pushed the door open. And as Dean passed Aubrey off to him outside the door and disappeared inside the Men's Room, a warm feeling spread through Sam as Aubrey pressed her hand into his and skipped along beside him out to the car.

_I guess Pastor Jim was right…family ups-and-downs really _do_ work out in the end. _

* * *

A/N: To all of you who have sent in reviews, thanks so much! I know how it is sometimes—you read an update and it just seems like so much work to type up a review. And because I know for a fact how that feels, I appreciate you all so much more for forcing yourselves to do it anyway—so thank you!

**Ingridmarie**: Thanks so much for sending me a review, and for letting me know that you like how Dean is handling things. Out of all of the characters, he's the one I worry about the most as far as writing him convincingly. So thanks!

**Kitkat**: Thanks for dropping me a line! Hope you liked this chapter!

**zuimar**: I was so touched by your review for Chapter 16! What lovely compliments! That chapter took a lot of work, not so much because of the emotional bits but because of the timing of everything. Actually, that chapter almost didn't happen—one of my betas made me aware of the lack of a Dean chapter, so we must all thank her profusely for it! I'm glad you can see the scenes in your mind, though—I see them like a movie myself, so it's fun to find other people that do that. I haven't quite figured out whose POV the next chapter will be from, but I'm sure we'll get another John chapter soon!

**Indus**: You know, your review was interesting for me, because I tend to focus more on John's relationship with Elaine as the source of Dean's dislike for the twins, and you reminded me that he also is facing the fact that he'll have to be responsible for them, too. It's a lot of pressure for a seventeen-year-old, so yeah, I'm definitely hoping to make that more apparent in upcoming chapters. Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing and enjoying the story!

**Poppyflake**: Well, I'm guessing this chapter wasn't quite the resolution between John, Dean, and the hamster as you may have hoped for or expected. The battle between Dean and Boo will continue, I'm afraid. But Dean _is_ talking to his father. Okay, not much, but it's a start. I didn't want to move past that too quickly, because it would come across as unrealistic if he just suddenly got over it. But anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for reviewing!

**lblficwriter**: Don't you just hate when you get into a fic at like 3 in the morning, and you find yourself fighting not to make noise as you read? That happened to me just the other day, actually. Thanks so much for the lovely review you sent—it's always good to hear that I'm writing the characters convincingly. Oh, and BTW, never worry about how long a review is—I definitely don't mind. Write as much as you like! LOL!

**Acaigirl**: Thanks for sending me a review. I'm glad to hear that you're enjoying the story. Hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!


	18. A List and a License to Kill

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, everyone—I had to sit on the chapter a bit in order to make sure the Minion details didn't conflict with anything in the Chapter 19 showdown. Which meant, of course, that I had to go and write Chapter 19 in order to be absolutely certain….So, yeah, sorry. The good news is, Chapter 19 is almost complete, so you won't have to wait a tremendous amount of time for it. Oh, and before I forget, thanks mimishell for your beta-ing expertise! Anyways, thanks for your patience everyone, and I hope ya'll enjoy!

Chapter 18: A List and a License to Kill

_Well, this hasn't been as bad as I thought it would be. Knock on wood_, John thought as he drove down the seemingly endless road, the big, black muscle car eating up the miles as readily as it was eating up gas. With Aubrey's bathroom issues taken care of and Braden drugged enough to be pleasantly un-sick, things seemed to be going relatively well. Until he glanced back in the rearview mirror to see Aubrey out of her seatbelt and on her knees, her head and shoulders hanging out the window.

_Dammit, what the—?_

"Aubrey, what the hell are you doing?"

"The wind feels cooler outside—it blows my hair around like I'm flying—it's fun, Daddy!"

"Yeah, well sit back and put your seatbelt back on," John said, glancing back in the rearview mirror at the little girl, her hair blowing every which way as the car sped along the road.

But she didn't acknowledge him, and John's eyes narrowed, irritated that she could obviously hear him but was trying to pretend otherwise.

"Aubrey, if you don't get your ass back in that seatbelt right now, I'm gonna pull over, and you're gonna wish you had listened when you had the chance."

With a sigh, she pulled her head back in and slouched down in the seat, casting a disgruntled look at John before crossing her arms over her chest, her bottom lip poking out in a pout.

"Way to kill the peace, Dad," Sam piped up sarcastically from his seat beside Aubrey, rolling his eyes as he shook his head in annoyance.

_And that easily, I can feel my blood pressure rising. How in the hell does it happen? One minute, everything's fine, and then next thing I know, it's like the damn domino effect—one kid starts givin' me shit, and everyone else follows. _

"Sam, don't start. I'm tired, and I'm not in the mood for it."

"You're _always_ tired," Sam sneered, crossing his arms over his chest in a pose almost identical to Aubrey's.

"And I'm irritable as hell. So shut it _now_."

"Yeah, well that's not exactly news either," Sam mumbled under his breath, and John could literally feel the blood rising to his face as hot anger swept him. Before he could respond, however, Dean leaned forward and turned the radio on, the action serving as a disruption for what was likely about to turn ugly.

Unfortunately, John's relief was short-lived, as the loud, screeching tones of AC/DC wafted through the speakers.

_I _don't _think so_, he thought, reaching forward and changing it to his usual country music station, frowning when Dean sighed.

"Damn," Dean murmured, so softly that John almost missed it. But though the word was almost inaudible, the seventeen-year-old's disappointment was apparent as he watched John's hand fall away from the radio dial.

"What?"

"Nuthin'," Dean told him, shaking his head as he turned to look out the window.

Though it wasn't as bad as it had been, it was obvious that while Dean was at least speaking again, he was still struggling when it came to anything remotely resembling conversation with his own father.

_Hell, I can't even get more than a four or five-word sentence out of him._ _And he still won't meet my eyes. _It hurt more than John wanted to admit, and he couldn't help but wonder if he was ever going to be able to get back what he'd lost with his eldest.

"C'mon, son, what is it?" he asked softly, keeping his eyes on the road so as not to pressure the boy any further.

"Well…we've…we've been listening to…nevermind," Dean mumbled, and from the corner of his eye, John could see Dean's hands clenching tightly in his lap as he looked down.

_No, c'mon, Dean—talk to me, son._

"No, what? 'We've been listening to' what?" John asked mildly, trying his hardest to prompt his son to speak without pushing too hard.

"To this…country shit. For days," Dean told him quietly, and John sighed at the stilted, uncomfortable way Dean was speaking to him. Not to mention his answer wasn't exactly what John wanted to hear.

_Hell, at least he's talking. Take what you can get, John._

"What are you talkin' about, Dean? You slept through most of Dad's country shit," Sam suddenly pointed out, his blunt observation effectively interrupting the increasingly awkward discussion by replacing it with a potentially more heated one. And while John was grateful, he couldn't help but shake his head with a sense of disbelief.

_Kid always has to play devil's advocate, regardless of what he really thinks. A second ago, he was all pissed at me, but now he's gonna take my side for no other reason than just to be contrary._

"What the hell, Sammy? You hate this shit, too," Dean blurted out, turning in his seat to stare at Sam incredulously.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I wanna listen to _your_ shit any more than I wanna listen to _his_. Maybe Dad's music is the lesser of two evils," Sam replied with a smirk.

"You owe me, bitch. So back me up," Dean retorted, and with his classic long-suffering sigh, Sam conceded to his older brother, turning back to John with a blank expression.

"Fine. 'Oh, please, Dad,'" Sam began facetiously, "'Change it back to AC/DC. Surely I'll die if you don't.'" John couldn't help but chuckle as Sam finished his completely tongue-in-cheek plea and turned back to his older brother. "There, are you happy?"

"Smart-ass," Dean threw out.

"Dumb-ass," Sam snapped back.

"Asshole."

"Jackass."

"Ass-hat."

"Asswipe."

"Dickweed."

"Piss-face."

"Shithead."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Butthead."

"Fu—"

"Dean," John broke in, fighting back a smile even as he cut Dean off from what was no doubt about to take the insult war to a whole new level. _Better to put a stop to it now, before they get into the really creative stuff. No sense in them corrupting the twins any more than we already have. Jim would shit a brick if we showed up next time and one of my eight-year-olds said 'dickweed' in front of him. What the hell is a 'dickweed' anyway? Or an ass-hat—where do they come up with this shit?_

Leaning forward with a shake of his head, he turned the radio back to AC/DC, bracing himself to put up with the shrieking vocals and blaring guitar riffs of "Shoot to Thrill" if it would make his oldest happy for just a little while.

"Daddy, when are we gonna get there?" Aubrey suddenly asked, and John glanced heavenward, praying for patience.

"No sooner for you askin' me that," he said, not unkindly, but making it clear that he wouldn't tolerate that line of questioning. "We'll get there when we get there—not a moment before, and not a moment after. And I don't play that 'Are we there yet' game—so don't ask again."

"But that's not an answer," Aubrey complained, but one look from John in the rearview mirror silenced her. With a quiet sigh, Dean carefully reached forward and opened the glove compartment, pulling out a large map. After taking a look at the road signs they were passing, he glanced over at the speedometer before absorbing himself in the map, his finger tracing the route even as John could see him processing information and calculating speed and mileage.

"Two-and-a-half hours, Aubrey," he replied after a long minute.

"What?"

"Two-and-a-half hours. Until we get there. Not counting pee breaks."

"Oh," she said thoughtfully, before turning to John. "Why didn't _you_ just say that, Daddy?"

"Because," John said crankily, wincing at how completely weak and inane his response sounded. Obviously, Sam picked up on that as well, as he was currently in the backseat, snorting in amusement.

"But, didn't you know?" she asked him, cocking her head in that way that Dean often did when he was trying to figure something out.

"Of course I knew," he retorted, annoyed at how defensive he sounded, and even more annoyed when it was obvious from Aubrey's skeptical look that she didn't believe him.

"Maybe you should let Dean drive, Daddy—I think he knows where we're going better. You wouldn't want to get us lost."

"Look, I've been driving this country since well before you were born—I think I know what I'm doing."

"Then how come you didn't—"

"Aubrey, lay off," Dean said quietly, and with a resigned sigh, Aubrey let it go, reaching once more for one of her Barbies and the pink stuffed elephant she kept close. John felt himself begin to relax as, aside from the music, something vaguely resembling peace settled over the occupants of the car.

As the strains of AC/DC gave way to the slightly mellower tunes of Metallica's "Enter Sandman," however, John could see Dean starting to fidget, a sure sign that he was getting bored. And John knew 

well enough what lengths Dean was willing to go to when he was bored. _Damn. Please don't let this be a sign that Dean's about to start shit for the hell of it. _

But when Dean turned in the seat to look back at Aubrey with a look of mild disgust on his face, John got a bad feeling.

"Don't you have any dudes?" Dean asked her, eyeing the Barbie with utter disdain.

_Oh hell._

"Whatcha mean?" she asked, gazing back at him in confusion.

"You got freaky-as-hell chick-dolls," he told her, nodding at the doll in her hand. "Don't you have any dudes?" he asked again.

"I had a Ken, but it's at our house—I forgot him, and Daddy would've been mad if I'da asked him if I could go back in. He was sorta cranky, you know."

"A Ken? That's stupid. You need a GI-Joe."

"What's a GI-Joe?"

"Aw, man," Sam groaned from beside her, dragging his hand over his face, sounding completely dismayed by his sister's ignorance on the subject. _And here we go,_ John thoughtresignedly_. This would be the part where Dean mostly just sits back and enjoys the fireworks. _"He's a soldier, Aubrey," Sam was saying. "Hasn't Braden taught you _anything_?"

"A soldier?"

"Yeah, an army guy—he's totally awesome. There's a cartoon and everything. They make the small action figures, but they've also got larger ones, about the size of your Ken doll anyway, so if we got you one, he wouldn't look goofy next to Barbie."

"Ken's not so bad," Aubrey protested.

"Ken's a pansy," Dean told her bluntly, his voice practically daring her to continue. _Stirring the pot_, John thought, recognizing the tactic for what it was: a way to keep the argument going for optimum enjoyment.

"No, he's not! He's nice, and Barbie really likes him! 'Sides, Ken has _almost_ as many clothes as Barbie, and he gets to drive Barbie's car and take her places," she countered, coming to the defense of her Ken doll in the face of such abuse.

_Not really the argument you want to use if you're trying to convince your _brothers_, Aubrey,_ John thought, shaking his head. _Hell, girl, you just proved their point. Stupid-ass doll doesn't even have his own car. No, baby girl, driving his chick's pink Convertible isn't exactly a ringing endorsement for his manhood._

And apparently, Sam agreed with him, as he suddenly called out, "Pansy!" There was a grin of outright glee on the thirteen-year-old's face as he stared back at his sister, his eyes lit with mischief. And like the Winchester she was, Aubrey was more than willing to oblige.

"Uh-uh! He's got muscles and stuff—I bet he's a whole lot stronger than some old Joe guy!"

"Muscles? From doing what? Carrying Barbie's shopping bags?" Sam laughed, and once quick glance in the rearview mirror showed John a red-faced Aubrey glowering at her brother.

"It don't matter how he got 'em, so long as he can still beat up Joe."

"Muscles don't mean shit," Dean tossed back over his shoulder, and John was immediately suspicious. Up until that point, Dean had let Sam take over, content to sit back and watch the chaos that he'd triggered, but if he was jumping back into the argument, then he obviously had come up with a way to win.

_So, where's he going with this? Last I checked, muscle was a pretty big part of a fight._ Dean's sense of reasoning was quirky at best, downright mind-boggling at worst. _This oughta be good._

"Yeah, they do! He's got enough muscles to beat your guy," she told him stubbornly.

"Can't stand up to an M-16 though, can they?"

John let loose a bark of laughter, amused as hell when he saw where Dean was heading with this line of reasoning.

_Might as well give up now, Aubrey—you're not going to win against this kind of logic. _

John couldn't really say when he'd suddenly gotten invested in an argument about the merits of two make-believe plastic characters, but he had to agree with his boys—GI Joe could mop the floor with that bitch, Ken.

"What's an M-16?" Aubrey was asking, staring back at Dean with confusion.

"A huge gun that GI Joe comes with," Sam answered with a grin. "Ken only comes with his clothes and shit," he taunted, his eyes lit with laughter even as Aubrey narrowed her eyes and turned to John. "Yep, it's like we told you—Ken's a pansy."

"Daddy, tell Sam that Ken isn't a pansy!"

"I'm not getting into the middle of this one." _Because this time, I completely agree with them. _"Sorry, honey, you're on your own," John said with an amused grin of his own.

"It doesn't matter, anyway, 'cause I _know_ I'm right," she told them, raising her chin defiantly as she crossed her arms over her chest resolutely. "You're just stupid boys, and you don't know any better."

"Look, I'm sorry, Aubrey, but you just gotta face the facts," Sam informed her as he threw an arm around her shoulder good-naturedly. "Joe's got muscles, but he doesn't need 'em. He's got his gun. Joe's gonna win every time."

"Yep," Dean said, nodding. "Joe would kick his ass."

_Check-mate,_ John thought, recognizing that Aubrey's side of the debate had just suffered a blow that she couldn't recover from. Apparently, Aubrey realized it too, and one look at his daughter was enough to tell John that she didn't take losing any better than the rest of them. And that quickly, things turned sour.

"You take that back, Dean, or I'll sic Boo on you!" she threatened, her eyes narrowing threateningly. Dean responded in kind, all hints of humor gone from his voice.

"That fucking hamster gets anywhere near me, and I'll kill it," Dean said softly, his tone not masking the absolute menace in his voice as he stared back at her grimly. _I probably need to talk to him about curbing the use of the f-bomb in front of the twins…_

"You wouldn't do that," Aubrey was saying, but even John could sense the uncertainty in her voice as she stared back at Dean with increasing apprehension.

"Try me," Dean told her, his jaw tightening as his eyes narrowed to match hers.

_Like he hasn't been waiting for an excuse to kill the damn thing. Time to step in._

"Alright, you two, that's enough. Boys, quit teasing your sister. And Aubrey, don't use that rodent as leverage against your brother—you won't win, and I don't want to have to deal with the fallout if he figures out a way to kill it."

"Way ahead of you, Dad," Dean murmured, and John frowned, not liking the gleam in Dean's eyes.

"Daddy!" Aubrey began, but John cut her off.

"Dean—you touch that hamster, and you and I are gonna have problems."

The hint of trouble in Dean's eyes didn't lessen, however, and John's frown deepened as he could practically see Dean's mind working out what John had just said, no doubt looking for a way to get around him.

_Did I leave him room to maneuver around me? I told him…fuck. I just told him not to touch it—never said anything about killing it _without _touching it. He could take the damn thing out with a pistol and still argue that he didn't do anything I told him not to. You're slipping, John._

"Let me rephrase, Dean—you _harm_ that hamster, in any way, and I'm gonna come lookin' for you. Understand?"

"Fine," Dean said with a frustrated, irritable sigh.

"Try again."

"Yes sir."

_You'd think after dealing with this kid for seventeen years, I'd remember just how devious he can be when he puts his mind to it. Gotta stay on top of your game with him, Johnny-boy. That one's the sole reason I have to step in and put a stop to Prank Wars every damn time. That bit with the Nair in Sam's shampoo…hell, it was genius, but damn. The shit he comes up with is downright alarming sometimes. Thought Sam was never gonna stop bitching about that one._

Things settled down once more after that, his children seeming to come to a mutual decision to leave each other the hell alone and give him some semblance of quiet. Aside from the "mullet rock," as Sam called it, playing on the radio, the car was quiet, with Dean, Sam, and Aubrey each either settling down to nap or amusing themselves quietly, Braden none the wiser as he continued to sleep off his latest dose of Dramamine. Despite the peace, however, by the time they reached the motel, John was never so glad to see his truck waiting there for him in the corner of the parking lot where he'd left it. Unfortunately, going for a solitary drive in his truck like he really wanted to do was going to have to wait, he knew, as he sighed and pulled in at the front of the motel office, stepping out to go rent a room without a word.

After receiving the key, John moved the car to a parking space right in front of their door before turning to address the three kids who were awake.

"Alright, listen up. Bobby's gonna meet us here—he should only be a few hours behind us, so get your shit together and let's unload," John told them, exiting the car and heading straight for the trunk as Sam nudged Braden awake and Dean started to stuff trash into the small plastic bag under the seat. The "Backseat Brigade," as John had dubbed them earlier, started gathering up the massive amounts of junk they'd accumulated over the course of the trip, luckily none of them deciding to bitch about it. With a sigh of relief, John grabbed Dean's crutches out of the trunk, carrying them around to Dean's side of the car and propping them up against the door frame as Dean slowly climbed out.

"Here's the key to the room, Dean—go on in and lay down, prop that knee up."

With a disgruntled sigh, Dean took the offered key and grabbed the crutches, none too excited about having to use them. But John had already had that discussion with his eldest a few days prior, and he could tell that the boy's knee was bothering him, so he was relatively certain Dean wasn't going to make an issue out of the crutches again.

They made quick work of unloading the car, and within a very short amount of time, the duffel bags were stowed by the beds, and his four offspring were stretched out watching TV, Braden staring blearily at the screen as though trying to snap out of his drug-induced stupor while Aubrey and Sam offered up their own unique brand of commentary about each show that Dean flipped the TV to.

Lifting his duffel onto the bed, John started off-loading firearms and books onto the motel table, wanting to double-check that each one was loaded and ready.

"Hey, Sam," he heard Dean say, "Check it out. _Stephen King's IT._"

_Oh shit._

"Dean, turn the channel," he said menacingly, as Sam opened his mouth to yell.

"But why can't we watch it? It's just some kids buildin' a raft," Aubrey asked, and judging from the innocent expression on her face, John could guess she had no clue what the movie is about.

"You and Braden are too young to watch it—it gets scary, and I don't want to deal with nightmares," John said, leaving it at that as he gave Dean a warning look. _There're enough _real _monsters in this world to be afraid of—I don't need them afraid of imaginary ones. Besides, there's no need to embarrass the hell out of Sam by telling them that the the nightmares are just as likely to be Sam's than anyone else's because clowns scare the shit out of him._

Dean changed the channel, but after a few moments, he gave up on finding anything else worth watching, tossing the remote at Sam with a sigh of disgust.From the corner of his eye, John saw Dean reach across the space between the beds and pick up his journal. John didn't think anything of it at first, as he occasionally allowed Dean to flip through its contents, though the more personal entries, the ones written just after Mary's death, were strictly off-limits.

But Dean knew that, so John wasn't worried. He thought nothing of it at first, and was about to turn back to his bag when he suddenly recalled that _Dean_ didn't read when he was bored. And when Dean didn't seem to be perusing any of the pages, instead flipping straight ahead to the back where John sure as hell knew _he_ hadn't written anything, he frowned as he narrowed his gaze, watching the teenager suspiciously.

_What the hell is he doing? _

Typically speaking, Dean wasn't exactly a subtle creature, so John was pretty certain it would become obvious what the boy was doing relatively quickly. But Dean didn't appear to be doing much of anything with the journal, merely staring speculatively at what John had to assume was a blank page for God only knew what purpose_._

But It wasn't until Dean uncapped the pen that John had placed in the front, that John decided enough was enough, and he wanted answers.

"Dean!" he barked out, hiding a smile when the boy jumped in surprise.

Startled, Dean dropped the journal, staring back at John with a familiar "oh shit" look on his face. When he met John's eyes, however, he immediately dropped his gaze, unable to meet John's stare for long.

"What the hell are you doing with my journal?"

"Nothin'," Dean told him, but John had never been one to accept that as an answer, and he wasn't about to start now.

"I know I didn't write anything that far back, but you were sure staring at something pretty damn hard, and judging from the looks of you, you were about to write something, and I'm gettin' the feeling that you already have. So I'm gonna ask you again: What the hell are you doing with it? And don't feed me that 'nothing' bullshit again."

"'s only a page," Dean replied with a small, guilty shrug, his voice barely audible as stared down at the journal in question on his lap.

"Bring it here," John demanded. "Sam, go lay out the salt lines," he added, knowing instinctively that the thirteen-year-old's nose for trouble as well as a younger sibling's eagerness to watch an older sibling get bitched at would have Sam paying rapt attention to what was taking place.

"Aw, man," Sam grumbled as he stood and went for the large bag of salt in its customary place in the corner. Meanwhile, Dean was now standing in front of John, looking more like a chastised five-year-old than the cocky seventeen-year-old he really was as he shuffled his feet, staring down at the journal in his hands with an unmistakably worried look.

"Give it to me," John ordered, holding out his hand, and with only the slightest hesitation, Dean placed it in his open palm. Flipping it open to the back section, John began to search the blank pages for what had held Dean's attention, finally coming to a stop on the front of the next-to-last page. He stared at it, his travel-weary brain struggling to make sense of what he was seeing.

_Looks like a schizophrenic's sketchpad,_ he thought, staring at the messy accumulation of doodles and words jumbled together all over the page, arbitrarily scattered arrows connecting seemingly random items without rhyme or reason. _What the hell is that? _he thought, his brow furrowing as he focused his gaze on a particular doodle that caught his eye. _ Is that a psychotic clown driving a car? _He fought back a laugh as he spotted a miniscule speech-bubble hanging in the air next to the clown reading "Hi, Sammy." Flipping the page, he wasn't surprised to see that Dean had continued to doodle on the back, although here, there was method to the madness, the doodles carefully spaced around a well laid out and on-going list that was taking up the majority of the page.

_Shit. I think I'm gonna have to watch him closer than I thought_, John thought as he stared down at the page.

**Ways to Kill a Hamster**

**1. Obtain a small fire-arm…you can never have too much target practice**

**2. Smuggle out hospital food…feed to hamster—Green Jell-O is best**

**3. Drop hamster in toilet…flush**

**4. Rat poison…a classic**

**5. Salt and burn…also a classic**

**6. Silver bullet to the heart…just in case**

**7. Enjoy a game of darts…bulls-eye**

**8. Put cage in trunk…hope for loss of air**

**9. Put cage in trunk…hope for excessive heat**

**10. Decapitate…because you can never be too sure**

**11. Magnifying glass + sunlight--perfect for ants…will it work on hamsters?**

**12. In case Number 11 proves ineffective…send hamster for a nice swim in the motel pool**

**13. Introduce hamster to fun, new friends…Hamster, meet Cat**

**14. Place cage behind ****rear**** wheel of vehicle…twice the run-over capability, in case back wheel doesn't finish the job**

**15. Accidentally drop boulder onto cage…'it slipped, honest'**

**16. Microwaved hamster, anyone?**

**17. Death by guillotine…French classic**

**18. Drop hamster into Barbie car…push car over small cliff…must first attain Barbie car from Aubrey**

**19. **

_No wonder he said he was way ahead of me about figuring out ways to kill the damn thing._

"Dean?"

"Sir?"

"You get points for creativity, but you do any of the shit on this list, your usual training is gonna seem like a fucking cakewalk compared to what it will be. And the Impala? That baby'll be mine again, understand?"

"Yes sir."

"And Dean?" John told him as he carefully tore the page out and handed it to his son. "You want something to write in, I'll get you a journal of your own, or you can use motel stationary. Don't do this again." Dean took it, nodding but not looking up as he continued to stand before his father. "Alright, go on. And don't let the twins see that, you get me? I don't need any more problems."

"Yes sir," Dean mumbled, folding the piece of paper carefully and tucking it into his pocket.

"Actually, since you're so bored, why don't we start working that knee a little bit?" _Might as well, since Bobby seems to be taking his sweet time to get here._

Judging from the look on his face, John figured that Dean wasn't too eager, but to the boy's credit, he didn't argue. Placing his journal back on the bed, John waited for Dean to change into athletic shorts and settle on the floor so that John could help him stretch his leg out before they got started.

Hoping that Sam would stay involved in the TV show he was now watching, the salt lines laid and forgotten, John glanced over at the other bed, glad to see Sam's eyes glued to the TV screen and the twins occupied, Aubrey with her Barbies and Braden with his sketchpad. Shaking his head, he settled at Dean's feet as Dean stretched out on his back on the floor. Grasping the boy's leg with one hand above his knee and one hand below his knee, John slowly began to bend it, gently pressing it towards Dean's chest. Dean winced, letting out a groan as he released a harsh breath of air, his hands clenching at his sides as he struggled to keep from pushing John's hands away. _Shit. This is gonna be rough._

* * *

Forty-five grueling minutes later, John decided to lay off. Dean was looking pained, his features pinched and his eyes betraying the pain he was in. _Gotta admire the kid, though—he doesn't complain. Sam on the other hand…_

Sam was currently glaring at John with what Dean had long ago dubbed "the bitch-face," and was liberally huffing at John as though the older man was not only purposefully hurting Dean but personally enjoying every minute.

"Alright, Dean, let's call it quits, huh?"

Dean nodded tiredly, but made no move to stand, instead flopping back to the carpet, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

"We need to get some ice on this. You wanna lay on the bed now?"

Dean grunted, but whether it was assent or not, John couldn't say for sure. Taking it for a "yes," John stood, holding his hand out.

"C'mon, I'll give you a hand up."

With a weary sigh, Dean opened his eyes and reached for his father's hand, allowing John to help him to his feet. John helped him to the bed, sending Sam out to fill up a large Ziploc with ice. Sam scowled, giving John a less-than-loving look as he passed, but John had plenty of experience ignoring him, so instead of responding, he grabbed a towel and laid it over Dean's knee.

John left the ice on Dean's knee for about fifteen minutes before removing it, emptying out the bag in the sink before returning to the other room to find Dean sitting up.

"I want a shower. I feel gross."

"Then take a cool one, okay? You don't wanna take a hot one after icing your knee."

"'kay," Dean mumbled, and John helped him limp as far as the bathroom before pulling the door shut behind him, ordering Sam to get up and take Dean his duffel. As Sam moved past him with the duffel, he glared at his father, an angry scowl on his face that told John that Sam was more than willing to start something.

_And just when I think things are getting easier, Sam's pissy attitude reasserts itself, rearing up to bite me on the ass again. I get things at least partially settled with Dean, only to have the usual shit with Sam starting back up. And of course, I've still got Braden's strange-as-hell knowledge to contend with, and Aubrey's clinging abandonment issue to handle as well. I need a drink. A tall one. With a high alcohol content. _

He rubbed a tired hand through his hair, turning back towards his duffel only to see Aubrey staring at him thoughtfully.

"What?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as he watched the expression on her face, pretty damn sure the second the words left his mouth that he shouldn't have asked.

"I think Dean prolly doesn't like you much right now, Daddy—you was hurtin' his knee. Wasn't very nice of you, you know," she informed him practically.

"Baby, it's necessary. If he doesn't exercise that knee, it's gonna stiffen up on him, and it won't work right anymore," he told her, trying his best to be patient with her, even though it was hardly in his nature to do so.

She stared at him skeptically, glancing at Braden for confirmation, but the little boy only shrugged before going back to what he was doing, leaving Aubrey to take up the matter alone. And she obviously didn't have a problem doing just that.

"Me and Bray think that ain't right—you should've left his knee alone. It hurts and he needs to let it rest and feel better," she told him resolutely.

"Aubrey—"

A knock on the door saved him from responding, and while he was pretty certain it was Bobby, he turned towards his bed to grab a pistol. _Just a precaution. Never know what might be out there._

But as he turned back towards the door, Sam shot past him, running to open the door. Before John could say a word, the boy had started to throw the door open.

"Samuel," John barked out, pushing Sam aside as he moved to place himself in between Sam and the door.

_Of all the stupid, careless—_

"What the hell, Dad?" Sam asked with a glare, staring back at John with a fine mixture of defensiveness and affront.

"I taught you better than that—how many times have I told you not to blindly open a door?! That's careless and dangerous—it's shit like that that'll get you killed!"

"Aw, John, lay off your boy," a familiar voice called through the door, "You can bitch at him later. Hell, if I know you—which I do—you'll get around to it, I'm sure. Now open the damn door and let me in already. This shit's heavy."

Sam glanced up at John questioningly, and with a sigh, John moved aside, letting Sam open the door with a grin.

"Hey, Uncle Bobby!"

"Hey, kiddo," Bobby told him, a smile on his grizzled face as he dropped a beat-up canvas bag on the floor with a thump.

"How are ya', Bobby?" John asked, tucking the gun away before reaching out to grab Bobby's hand in a firm handshake.

"Not bad, John. You?"

"I've been better."

"Dean?"

"He's better than he was, but he's still off his game. We're gonna have to take care of this one without him."

Aubrey chose that moment to slip off the bed and come over, grabbing onto John's shirt as she partially hid behind him, peering at Bobby shyly before glancing up at John questioningly.

"Bobby, this is Aubrey," he said, gently pulling her out from behind him. "Aubrey, this is a friend of ours, Bobby."

"Nice to meet ya', kiddo," he told the little girl kindly before looking back at John with a sudden grin. "So you got a girl in the Winchester ranks now—how's that workin' for ya'?"

"It's fine."

"Don't let him feed you _that_ line of bullshit, Uncle Bobby," Sam told the hunter, a mischievous grin on his face. "Dad doesn't have a freakin' clue what he's doing with a girl. Dean has to—"

"Sam?"

"Sir?"

"Shut it."

"I'm only tellin' him the truth," Sam said indignantly, frowning back at John with a sarcastic expression.

"Samuel."

"Alright, fine!" Sam huffed, turning and heading back to the bed, grabbing a pack of cards off the table and settling in to sulk. John watched him go before turning back to speak to Bobby, only to realize that Aubrey was now stepping up to the plate.

"Sam calls you _Uncle_ Bobby, 'cept you're not really our uncle. But he says since we don't got any real uncles, and you don't mind, that it's okay. Me and Bray don't have any other uncles either, so is it okay if we call you 'Uncle Bobby,' too?"

"Fine with me," Bobby replied good-naturedly, winning a smile from the eight-year-old, and that easily, Aubrey accepted Bobby as readily as the gruff hunter accepted her.

_Should I be worried that she's too trusting? _

He watched wordlessly as Aubrey took hold of Bobby's hand and led him over to the bed where Braden was sprawled out with his sketchpad and colored pencils, paying absolutely no attention to his sister or their guest.

"This is my brother, Braden. He's older than me, but only by three minutes, so it don't really count. He'll call ya' 'Uncle Bobby,' too," she was saying. "'Cept he prolly won't talk to ya' until he knows ya' better. Bray don't talk to strangers, but don't feel bad or nothing—he'll get to know you soon, and he'll like you, I know it."

"Well it's nice to meet—what the hell," Bobby faltered, staring down at Braden's open sketchpad incredulously.

"He drawin' another devil's trap?" John asked, not bothering to address the little boy as he crossed the room to join Bobby and Aubrey at the side of the bed.

_It's not likely he'd answer anyway—as Aubrey saw fit to inform me, Braden doesn't do much talkin' around strangers. 'Course, in retrospect, I don't figure he does much talkin' anyway. And let's face it? Why the hell would he when he's got a sister who talks as much as Aubrey?_

"John—do you realize how complicated devil's traps really are? It's not just drawin' a circle somewhere…you've gotta get the placement of each figure just right, nevermind getting the Aramaic text and the Greek lettering correct."

"Are they right?" John asked, nodding towards Braden's current sketch as the little boy continued to draw, completely unfazed by their scrutiny.

"I'd have to do some close lookin', and probably check some of my books, but at first glance, I'd say 'yeah.' A better question might be, how the hell does he do it?"

"I dunno. What about the letters—do they look right?" John asked, curious to see if Braden possessed knowledge of more than just Latin.

"That sorta depends on whether or not he knows the Aramaic and Greek alphabets. Does he?"

"How the hell should I know? But considering he seems to possess a fair grasp of Latin, I'd say it was possible. And before you ask, no, I don't know how he knows any of this shit. Son, let me see your sketchbook," he said, turning to Braden and holding a hand out for the book. With a disgruntled expression, Braden handed it to him, and John turned back to Bobby, holding it out to the other man. "Right now, I'm more interested in knowing if any of these sketched out traps will do us any good against the Minion."

"Well, it's possible, I suppose. Not all of these are traps, though," Bobby replied as he flipped through some of the sketches. "Some are just wards that serve as more of a deterrent than an offensive means of takin' one on, and not every trap is going to work against every demon. Some traps aren't as powerful as others, and your stronger demons can break through certain traps, bypass certain wards. I'd want to study these a lot more before we put our faith in any particular one."

"How fast can you do that?"

"Hard to say. But you say you don't have any idea how the kid knows this stuff?"

"Yeah, that's what I said."

"And he won't tell you?"

"Says he doesn't know. I'm inclined to believe him."

"He's not possessed, is he?"

"No," John bit out, annoyed by what he felt was turning into the third degree. _Like I haven't already done all that. I'm not fucking incompetent. Besides, if he was possessed, why the hell would he be sharing any of this with us?_

"You mind if I talk to him?"

"Yeah, actually, I do. Look, just let it go," he said, reaching out to take the sketchbook back from Bobby, dropping it back into Braden's lap as he gave the man a hard look. "I'm planning to take him to Missouri when all this is said and done, but right now, I'm tryin' my best to compartmentalize—I've got one thing on my mind right now, and that's takin' down this damn Minion. Everything else can wait. Now were you able to find out anything more about this thing or not, because I don't have much. Jim loaned me what he had, but that's not sayin' a lot," he said firmly, leading Bobby away from Braden and over to the table to look at the books he'd placed there earlier.

"Yeah…look, John…I don't gotta tell you that this is a long shot. I mean, the odds of it still bein' here are pretty damn slim."

"Yeah, I know. But I'm hoping it stuck around for another chance at the twins."

"If that's the case, you think it's safe for you to have brought 'em back here?"

"The boys wanted to come with me, and Aubrey's like my fucking shadow more often than not, so there's no way I would have been able to leave 'em behind—they would've given me hell. But don't worry about it—they'll all stay here with Dean at the motel while you and I go after it."

"Hey, Dad, can we go get something to eat when Dean gets out of the shower?" Sam broke in suddenly, dropping the newly restacked deck of cards back onto the bedside table as he sat up to stare at John expectantly.

"Two adults were just talking, Samuel—you interrupted."

"Sorry," Sam told him lightly, shrugging unapologetically. "So…can we?"

"Do you see me doing something right now?" John asked pointedly, annoyed with the younger boy's rudeness.

"You know, I could go for some grub myself, John," Bobby told him, and even though John wasn't naïve enough to think Bobby was doing anymore than trying to prevent a possible argument, he was hungry enough himself to let it go this time and agree.

"Alright. Fine."

Sam scrambled up off the bed, and pulled his shoes on before turning to help the twins, driving both of them crazy in his haste.

"I can do it by myself, Sam," Aubrey complained, even as Sam pushed her hands aside and tied her shoes himself.

"Yeah, but I'm faster, and they'll actually stay tied if I do it. We gotta be ready when Dean comes out, because I'm hungry. And, Dad, I want _real_ food—not shitty fast food stuff."

"We _like_ fast food," Aubrey told him, and John couldn't help but smile as Aubrey tried unsuccessfully to defend their usual fare.

"Only cause you get the kid meals that have stupid toys inside them—I'm tired of those places."

"Yeah, well you've played with those 'stupid toys.' They must not be all _that_ stupid then," she retorted, sticking her tongue out at him even as the older boy moved on to help Braden, who glared at him mutinously, jerking his foot away as he set about tying his _own_ shoes.

"Sam, leave 'em alone and go sit down until Dean's ready," John ordered, shaking his head ruefully as he turned back to Bobby, who was looking on in vast amusement.

"Looks like you're gonna have your hands full for the next ten years or so, John."

"I'm hopin' it'll be a little easier this go round," John told him.

"Oh, I doubt that," Bobby replied with a grin. "Hell, anybody could look at 'em and know that every last one of those children is like a miniaturized version of _you_: temperamental and stubborn as hell."

Unfortunately, Dean emerged from the bathroom before John could reply, and with Sam practically shoving everyone out the door, they were in the car and on their way in mere minutes.

* * *

"So, how was your trip from Blue Earth, John?" Bobby asked from his seat across the table from John. John shrugged, never having been one for small talk. _But hell, I guess there's nothing better to do while we wait for the waitress to bring our chow. Can't exactly get into this shit with the Minion yet—not without getting interrupted. Yeah, that's awkward._

"Not too bad, all things considered," John answered wryly. "I had one kid out cold—Dramamine. Love that shit," John said fondly. "Dean's been sleeping off all kinds of prescription meds, so he's been pretty quiet…" John didn't mention that Dean's reticence was more owing to the fact that he was still having trouble talking to or in front of his father. "And without Dean startin' shit with Sam for the sole purpose of fighting off boredom, the drive was mostly pretty quiet."

"Aubrey bitched a lot, though," Sam threw in, grinning as the little girl in question looked up with affront.

"I did not! You bitched more!" she told them. "Don't you listen to him, Uncle Bobby."

"You both bitched plenty," Dean said irritably. "So give it a rest."

"You alright there, Dean?" Bobby asked, frowning as he glanced at the ornery seventeen-year-old worriedly.

"Just tired," he mumbled.

The table grew quiet, but after a moment, Aubrey looked over at Bobby with a suspicious look.

"Uncle Bobby…what do you think about GI Joe?"

_Oh shit—not this again. _

As the older boys snickered, Bobby glanced at John, wondering where the little girl was going with this, and John made a quick swiping motion across his neck, warning the other man to steer away from it.

"Uhhh…I don't really think _anything_ about GI Joe, Aubrey."

"Well, I think you don't like him much," she told him authoritatively, nodding confidently.

"Sure."

The table fell silent once again, and John scowled, the typical Winchester impatience leaving him annoyed and ready to forget waiting for their food to arrive before starting to question Bobby about what he'd discovered about the Minion.

_Screw it—I don't give a damn if we're interrupted. I want answers._

"So, Bobby, did you find out how to kill this thing?"

"Well, that's just it, John. You hafta be careful—if you don't release the souls it's carrying first, you can't actually kill it—free the host, yeah, but not get rid of it permanently. The good news is that you're pretty sure you know what its host looks like, provided it's still using Elaine."

"And the bad news?"

"Hell, the bad news is everything else. The usual methods aren't gonna work here. I mean, sure, you can extract it from the host-body with an exorcism, but it's not gonna just skedaddle on back to Hell afterward. By hanging onto a captured soul, it can just go after another host almost immediately."

The waitress came then, setting plates of steaming hot food in front of each of them, and John eyed her, watching until she had moved away, stopping to refill glasses of iced tea a few tables away, before he turned back to Bobby.

"So we release the soul, _then_ do the exorcism—that'll free Elaine and kill it all at the same time?"

"Well, it's a bit more complicated than that—you gotta release the _extra_ souls. This thing carries quite a few of 'em around. You gotta understand—they don't just steal souls. They collect them, and they _possess _them. We're not just talking possession of the body, here, John—we're talking _possession of the soul_. And these sons of bitches can haul around more than one soul, tormentin' them whenever the hell they want to. And with that many souls on hand, it can stick around indefinitely. What I'm trying to say here, John, is that the body is pretty damn irrelevant to takin' care of something like this. These things are nasty—we're gonna have to tread carefully here."

"But releasing the souls will make it possible to kill it?"

"As far as I can tell."

"Great. So how do we that?"

"Yeah, that's where things get a little vague."

_Of course they do,_ John thought, annoyed.

"Dad?"

Surprised that Dean was actually initiating contact with him, John turned to see Dean pushing food around on his plate, casting a quick glance at him before turning his gaze back to his plate.

"What is it, Dean?"

"Maybe you should wait," Dean told him softly.

"What are you talkin' about?"

"Wait for the twins to go to bed."

"Well I wasn't gonna attack the damn thing in broad daylight, Dean. Besides we don't even know where it is or how to kill it exactly, yet."

"No. That's not what I meant. Wait to _talk_ about it. They don't need to hear," Dean told him quietly, and John looked down at the twins sitting on either side. Braden had gotten still, his eyes gazing distantly at his forgotten plate of food, and from the look on Aubrey's face, John knew she was only a minute away from bursting into tears.

_Shit. _

Once again, Dean took the initiative, saving John from the awkwardness of knowing he screwed up and not having a damn clue how to fix it. Climbing slowly to his feet, Dean looked to the twins and jerked his head.

"C'mon. Let's find something good on the jukebox."

"Better than Daddy's shit?" Aubrey asked with a sniffle, staring back at Dean pitifully.

"Hell yeah," he said, offering her a small smile.

Biting her lip as she fought back tears, she slid out of her chair and stepped around toward Dean, waiting for Braden before the two of them led the way to the jukebox across the room, Dean casting a long look at John over his shoulder as he followed them on his crutches.

"Way to go, Dad," Sam said sarcastically, and John turned a harsh glare on the teen, who was already getting up to join his siblings.

"Damn, John, I'm sorry—I didn't think," Bobby said apologetically, and John just wished he could blame it all on the older man. _It's a hell of a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that I'm just as much to blame as Bobby._

"It's alright, Bobby. I didn't think, either."

_I'm so damn insensitive sometimes, that's it actually kind of alarming. I mean, hell, Dean's so damn sensitive to the people around him, I just sort of depend on him to deal with this sort of thing. But he hides it so damn well that most of the time, I just don't pay any attention…Better be glad he can, though—if it wasn't for him defusing the tension, this family would be FUBAR. _

"You think they'll be alright?" Bobby asked, breaking in on his train of thought.

"Yeah, I think so—Dean'll take care of it. Hell, Aubrey may not have even known what she was really hearing—she might have just gotten upset at her mom's name being tossed out. Braden's the one we have to worry about—he understands things in a way that's just downright scary in an eight-year-old."

"Well, I dunno, John—that little gal of yours might understand more than you give her credit for."

"I hope not. I don't think she can handle anything else right now. Hell, Bobby, we're just getting to a point where she's not crying at the drop of a hat. We really don't need any more setbacks."

"Well then, how do you think she's gonna handle you leavin' with me to go hunt for this thing?"

_Yeah, that's the fucking million dollar question._

"I've mentioned it a few times in front of her," he said uneasily, "but Aubrey…Aubrey hears what she wants to hear. I don't think you wanna be in the room when I start heading out the door."

"Is Dean gonna be able to handle things when you leave?"

_He always does._

"He's gonna have to. Thing is, while it pains me to admit it, he's starting to prove better at handling her than I am. And he's always stepped up to take care of things."

_And damn if I don't let him._

"Alright, well, you'll have at least one day, maybe two, before we can leave, so you've got some time to try and make it easier on her."

"Why wait?"

"Because, there's a few things I wanna look into first."

"So I'm just supposed to wait around with my thumb up my ass and do nothing while you waste time we don't have to look up archaic shit that probably won't even tell us how to kill the thing any more than the stuff we already have? Dammit, Bobby, we don't have that kind of time!"

"Would you stop jumping to conclusions and shut the hell up so I can finish?" Bobby waited, staring at John pointedly until he subsided with a huff that was just a tad reminiscent of his thirteen-year-old son. "Now I'm not talking about weeks here. I've got a lead on something that I think'll help us, but it might take me a couple days to get my hands on it. Until then, you can keep yourself busy by going back through our research, makin' sure we're goin' about this the right way."

"I just feel like we're wasting our time, Bobby—every minute gives this thing more ti—"

He broke off, sensing a presence approaching, and he turned to see Aubrey coming up beside him.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"We need more quarters," she told him softly, a subdued expression on her face as she waited before him. Shifting his weight onto one hip, John shoved his hand into his pocket and hauled out a handful of change. Picking out all of the quarters he had, he dropped them into her outstretched hand with an apologetic smile. He watched her turn and start to walk back to the boys only to rush back with a panicked expression.

"What's the matter?" he asked her as she reached out and grabbed the sleeve of his t-shirt, staring up at him anxiously.

"Daddy, are you gonna leave?"

"What do you mean?" John asked, frowning.

"When you go to look for that Minion-thing that hurt Mama. Are you gonna leave us?"

"I'm gonna leave you, Braden, and Sam with Dean while I'm gone," John said carefully.

"But—"

"Aubrey, listen to me," John said, pulling her closer to him so that he could look her in the eye. "Dean is gonna look after you while I'm hunting this thing, and he'll keep you safe."

"What if the Minion-thing comes, though?" she asked him tearfully. "What if he tries to get you?"

"I know how to take care of things like the Minion, so don't you worry about that."

"Well…what if it tries to get _us_?"

"Baby, I told you—you're gonna be with Dean. I've been leaving him in charge for a long time—do you think I'd leave him to look after the rest of you if I didn't trust him to protect you?"

"Well…I guess not," she said uncertainly.

"I've taught Dean how to protect himself, but more than that, I've taught him how to protect his family. And don't doubt for a minute that he'll do whatever it takes in order to keep you all safe. Dean has my permission to kill _anything_ that tries to hurt you, okay?"

"What about Boo?" she asked worriedly, obviously concerned that her beloved rodent would end up in Dean's line-of-fire. _You know, she's pretty damn wise to worry about that, come to think of it.._.

"I'm sure he'd be more than happy to kill Boo, too, if you asked him," John told her with mock seriousness, a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth.

"Dad-dy," she scolded him, putting her hands on her hips as she gave him a pointed look.

"I'm sure Boo will be fine. Sam'll keep an eye on him, how about that?"

"Okay," she murmured after a long moment, offering John a small smile before she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. John returned the gesture, pulling the little girl to him and holding her close, taking pleasure in the implicit trust and the warm sense of affection inherent in the simple act.

So often he felt overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness as he thought about all the monsters in the world, all the shit that he couldn't protect his children from. And what made matters worse was the knowledge that his oldest children had found out a long time that he couldn't protect them from everything. But in that moment, hugging his daughter, who was still innocent enough to think he could keep her safe and make everything better, he didn't feel quite so helpless.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed—hope to hear what you all thought of this chapter!

**kitkat**: Okay, so this wait was longer than usual, even, but I hope it was worth the wait as well. Let me know what you think! Thanks for reviewing!

**irishgirl9**: Yeah, Calvin and Hobbes rock, don't they? Okay, so this chapter has Dean opening up more to the twins, so I think you'll be pleased with that. And as far as the hamster goes, well, Dean won't be getting over that any time soon. Heh heh! Anyways, thanks for reviewing!

**Bunty**: The ongoing hamster saga continues! Hope you enjoyed the hamster bits in this one as much as you did in the last chapter. On another note, I'm really thankful that you mentioned how much you appreciate the long chapters…I know it's a long wait between updates, but I think longer chapters are better than shorter ones, and it's nice to know that people appreciate them. Thanks for reviewing!

**Hero Lilly**: You know, the toilet-shoe thing has actually been written for months. I've just been waiting for the right moment to put it in. Thanks for letting me know how much you liked it. I'm going to try and top your favorite chapter so far—what'd you think about this one? Did it top 17?

**zuimar**: Don't you just love it when alerts pop up?! LOL! Dean's definitely adapting, which I think we're all glad to see…I think we're all ready to see him settle. As much as I love angsty Dean, continuing to write his dialogue in no more than five or six words per sentence was starting to get tediously difficult. You'll see more of "back-to-normal Dean" in Chapter 19—still a tad on the quiet side, but starting to act more like his usual cocky, smart-ass self. LOL!

**michelexXx**: Reading all 17 chapters in one go is not easy—I applaud you! LOL! I'm so glad you like Aubrey—I'm starting to think that people either love her or hate her, without much in the way of in-between. Some readers seem to find her whiny and annoying, which saddens me, because that's not where I was going with her. So, I'm happy to hear that you find her adorable—thanks! Oh, and um…sorry I left you sitting and waiting for this chapter for so long…shrugs, smiles sheepishly Thanks so much for reviewing!

**Poppyflake**: Yes, Dean is finally settling down! As glad as you were to read it, you have no idea how glad I was to write it. It was getting to be a real pain to write Dean's dialogue with John in less than five or six words per sentence—tedious! LOL! Expect to see more of Dean in his back-to-normal big brother-like behavior! Thanks for reviewing!

**Paper Roses and Candy Kisses**: You and your long-ass pen-name! LOL! Thanks for reviewing for me—you could have just as easily told me when we were chatting how much you enjoyed it, so it makes the review all the more meaningful. Most people probably wouldn't have even bothered, what with that being the case. So thank you! I hope I've convinced you of Aubrey's adorable-ness…I'm trying to get her more fans, because a lot of readers think she's whiny and annoying. Not really what I was going for. Anyways, thanks again for reviewing!!

**nightingale**: So glad you're back! I was worried! As tempting as it was to go that whole "all-is-forgiven-and-forgotten" route for the sake of my convenience, I just couldn't do it. It wouldn't have been convincing at all for Dean to just all of a sudden decide he was okay with the twins. I've tried to keep it natural in this chapter as well, so let me know how I did! Glad to hear that you enjoyed the restroom scene—I've been sitting on that scene for months now, trying to find just the right place to put it in. Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing!


	19. An Evil that Smiles

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks CagedTroll for your wonderful beta-ing. You helped me make this better, and I appreciate it! Hope I got all the mistakes!

Chapter 19—An Evil that Smiles

Eight torturously bad songs on the jukebox, two covert refills of forbidden Pepsi, and four To-Go boxes later, they finally made it back to the motel. Realizing without a word that his father would need him and Sam to distract the twins, Dean immediately ushered his younger siblings towards the queen-sized bed he and Sam were sharing and flipped on the TV, turning the volume up to drown out the two men who were taking seats at the small motel table with a stack of Bobby's books.

_Help me out here, Dad—try not to talk about shit that's gonna upset them. Bad enough I gotta watch them, but if Aubrey's crying her head off and Braden's looking like a puppy that's been kicked one too many times, it sorta makes things a little uncomfortable. Talk about awkward._

Stretching out on his side of the bed—closest to the door—he frowned when Sam jumped onto the bed and stepped over him. Fighting back the urge to knock Sam off balance and watch him face-plant into the mattress, he allowed the younger boy to plop down on the other side of the bed, as the twins clambered up after him. Channel-surfing for a moment, he found a movie on that he figured the twins would get sucked into relatively easily and that Sam could at least tolerate, smirking when his younger siblings proved him right, settling on their stomachs as they inched closer to the TV, the twins nestled in between him and Sam. As Dean leaned back against his pillow and propped his knee up on Aubrey's back , he watched the cartoon nightmare for all of five minutes before he tuned it out entirely, focusing his attention on the conversation taking place between his dad and Bobby.

"Look, if you'll just be patient," Bobby was saying, and Dean stifled a snort of amusement, shaking his head. _C'mon, Uncle Bobby—you know Dad better than that. _ "If this lead I got pans out, we won't have to go looking for the Minion—we can bring it straight to us."

"Yeah? And what if it doesn't pan out? Then what, Bobby? We'll have wasted our time for nothing."

"Only by a day, two days at the most, John. And even if it doesn't work, I don't think two days is gonna make a whole lotta difference. If we do this your way, we're looking at less-than-good odds—hell, I don't think we'll find it at all. I mean, damn, John, we aren't just gonna magically find this thing waitin' for us at this woman's house. My way, we at least have better odds—my way, we can get this thing, trap it, and take care of it and all of the souls once and for all."

_Sounds like a pretty damn good deal, Dad…maybe you should quit being an ass and listen to him this time. Last time you ignored Uncle Bobby's advice, you came home from the hunt with a concussion and so many cuts that Sammy had to help me stitch you up._

"You've got two days, then—no longer. If you're not ready by then, I'm going ahead without you."

"You are one stubborn son-of-a-bitch," Bobby told him, shaking his head at John's ultimatum, and Dean found himself wondering how in the hell Bobby could consider that news.

"So this lead…what exactly is it?" John was saying, his expression skeptical as he leaned back in his chair, staring at the other man.

"Well, there's this witch..."

"You gotta be fucking kiddin' me!" John exploded in disbelief, his chair dropping back to the floor as he gazed back at Bobby incredulously.

_Yeah, you should have just lied, Uncle Bobby—Dad hates witches. Ever since that one in Boulder hexed him. And then there was that whole shit-storm in Seattle…_

"Now, John, don't go gettin' your panties in a twist—she's proven herself useful before, and hell, maybe if you'd listened to the advice she gave for that hunt back in April, you wouldn't have gone home concussed and bleeding."

"Good advice doesn't erase the fact that she's a damn witch, Bobby—she's playin' with fire, and I don't want to be the one to get burned when things go south."

"Well I gotta tell you straight, John—without her help, I don't think we have a snowball's chance in hell of finding this thing. I know you think it's gonna go back to Elaine's house, but it's like I told you—I think it's pretty damn unlikely."

"And how is some witch gonna improve our chances?"

_Good question, Dad. Uncle Bobby?_ Dean thought, shifting his gaze from his father to Bobby.

"Well, I think she can hook us up with a spell that will lure the Minion to us, and if we play our cards right, I think I can talk her into givin' us something to help release the souls so we can kill this sonovabitch."

_Oh…good answer. Dad?_

"Spells are unreliable, Bobby, you know that! Besides, what spell could possibly lure this thing in? You said it yourself—it's only after souls. What else is it gonna come for?"

"Well…about that…"

"What?" John asked, his tone guarded as his eyes narrowed on the other man suspiciously.

"I'm pretty sure that we'll need the twins," Bobby muttered, scratching the back of his head as he looked away from John's gaze.

_Oooh, this is the big moment—will he go for it? On the one hand, Dad doesn't exactly shy away from using us as bait. But on the other hand, the new kids don't exactly know how to fight off a fugly if things go bad, and as we all know, things are almost sure to go bad. So cue the annoying-as-hell Jeopardy music…what's it gonna be, Dad?_

"Need the twins _how_?" John asked, his brow lowered in a scowl that Dean recognized well enough as the look that typically preceded his father getting pissed off.

"Look, I'll call and check with her first—no need for you to get all uptight for nothing," Bobby said. "I'll give her a call, and we'll talk it over later," he finished, climbing to his feet.

"Look, if it's gonna put the twins at risk, we're not doin' it."

"Hell, John, you put the boys at risk all the damn time—I'm not saying I agree with it, but how is this any different?"

"Because the boys know how to defend themselves. Braden's knowledge of all things weird and archaic aside, the twins don't know shit about protecting themselves, and I'm not gonna put them in harm's way."

_Should I be glad that he's finally acting like a normal dad, or should I be jealous that he's so willing to keep _them_ out of this when he never did that for _me_?_

"Alright, alright," Bobby was saying, bringing Dean's attention back to the matter at hand. "I'll call her first thing in the morning."

"Call her now."

"Are you gonna be a first-class bastard about this?"

"Yeah. Call her now."

"Fine," Bobby grumbled, standing up and reaching for his bag to retrieve her number from his journal.

"There's the small matter of an amulet, too—need to see if she's got one to spare. If she doesn't, I'm gonna have to dig around, see if I can find one somewhere else 'cause we've gotta have one."

"What the hell do we need an amulet for?"

"Well, to capture the souls, John. How else do you think we'll get 'em away from the Minion?"

"How the hell should I know? I don't usually deal with souls, Bobby—I'm more in the business of killing things that don't have them."

"Well, it works like this: we use the amulet as sort of a focusing point—we pull them into the amulet, then we can destroy the Minion. Then, all we have to do is say a few words, break the amulet, and the souls go free."

_Somehow, Uncle Bobby, I get the feeling it won't be that easy. It never is._

"Dean! Hey, Dean," Sam whispered, bumping into Dean as he carefully sat up and moved toward the head of the bed so he could talk without waking up the twins who had quickly fallen asleep.

_Dammit, Sammy—I'm trying to eavesdrop, here, _he thought, trying his best to ignore Sam. _Yeah, like that ever works._

"Dean!" Sam asked again, his pitch rising with exasperation. _Shit._

"Dammit, Sammy, what?" Dean asked hotly, glaring down at his younger brother with a scowl.

"This Minion, thing," Sam began, ignoring Dean's irritation, "…once Dad kills it, Elaine will be okay, right?"

Dean's heart sank, his frustration at his brother disappearing at the hopeful expression on Sam's face.

_Shit. Why doesn't he ever ask Dad any of the hard stuff? _After a split second's consideration, Dean promptly realized the answer: probably because their dad never _answered_ the hard stuff. _Looks like it's up to me again…thanks, Dad._

"I don't think so, Sammy," Dean said softly after a moment, staring back at Sam regretfully.

"But I don't understand," Sam said, his eyes dark with confusion. "Other people who get possessed are exorcised, and they're fine! Why not Elaine?"

"Sammy…Bobby said it's not her body that's the problem. It's her soul. It's been ripped away from her body—you can't reverse that kinda shit, you can't put it back. All we can do is kill that sonovabitch and free her soul to move on."

"But…I…"

"What?" Dean asked, worried when his little brother suddenly looked a step away from tears. "What is it?"

"I just thought we had a chance, you know…of savin' her," he whispered.

"Sammy? How come you're so worked up about this? I mean, yeah, it sucks, but…well, we've never even met her," he pointed out, not trying to sound callous but curious at the younger boy's heartbroken reaction.

"You don't get it, Dean," Sam said hotly, his face a mixture of anger and anguish.

"Sammy, where's this comin' from?" Dean asked, gazing back at his little brother with growing confusion, beginning to get alarmed by the upset expression on Sam's face.

"It's just…I've been thinking about it lately and…well, if we coulda saved Elaine… …we could've had a mom again…'cause, I mean, I bet she'd have taken care of _us_, too, not just the twins," Sam told him, his 

large brown eyes staring back at Dean sadly. "But now…it'll never happen, and I'll never have a mom," Sam finished softly, his voice breaking painfully.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean whispered, not really knowing what else to say as Sam turned away, rolling over onto his side to face the wall, leaving Dean sitting helplessly beside him.

_What am I supposed to tell him? I mean, hell, no one can ever take Mom's place—I've never even pretended someone could. But Sammy doesn't remember her…_It hurt to think that Sam wanted a replacement mom, even if it _was_ completely understandable. _He doesn't even know what it's like to have a mom, and I can't do shit to change that. Because let's face it, he's right. It'll never happen. _

As it was, Dean couldn't think of a single thing to say to make it better for his brother.

* * *

Dean's hand went for the knife under his pillow before coherent thought even registered. As he sat up in bed and moved to block Sam, he looked over to see his father sitting up as well. Their eyes met for only a split second before they turned towards the shadow lurking at the door. Grabbing his pistol from the bedside table, John started to slide out of bed, and Dean moved to follow suit when suddenly his father stopped, heaving a sigh of annoyance.

"Braden—what the hell, son?" he barked, reaching over and turning the bedside lamp on.

_Ow, dammit. A little warning next time,_ Dean thought with a scowl as the blinding light hit his eyes. Blinking past tears, he looked over to see Braden crouched on the floor, busily drawing on the back of the door with a black crayon.

_What the—_

"Braden, I asked you a question," John said sternly, but the little boy seemed not to notice, his eyes eerily blank as he focused solely on his drawing with rapt attention.

"What's wrong with him?" Dean asked, eyeing his youngest brother with a discerning gaze when the eight-year-old didn't answer.

"Is Bray doin' it again, Daddy?" Aubrey's voice cut in sleepily, and Dean's gaze shifted from Braden to his sister, sitting up behind John as she rubbed her eyes tiredly.

"He do this a lot?"

"Um, sometimes…it's okay, Daddy, he'll come back to bed on his own soon. It don't last long."

"He's drawin' on the door, Aubrey," John pointed out. "You expect me to just let him finish?"

"Dad? What's going on?" _And now everybody's up,_ Dean thought, rolling his eyes with annoyance as Sam sat up to see what they were looking at.

"Your brother's sleepwalking," John said wearily, his eyes never breaking away from Braden as they all watched him continue to draw.

"Shit, Dad," Sam whispered in awe as Braden dropped the black crayon and reached for a red one distractedly, the lines on the door taking on the familiar shape and appearance of a devil's trap.

"Yeah," John replied with a sigh as they watched Braden continue to draw, the youngest boy showing no inclination to stop.

"How does he do that, draw while he's sleeping?"

"Hell if I know," John replied as he eased out of bed, cautiously moving towards Braden, crouching down beside him and gently turning the little boy to face him.

"Braden?"

As Dean looked on, Braden stared back at John, his eyes appearing to stare right through their father as he held the red crayon in his fist.

"Son, let's get you back to bed, okay?"

When Braden didn't protest, John reached out and took the crayon from Braden's limp fingers and picked him up, carrying the unresponsive child back to bed. Tucking him into the middle of the bed next to Aubrey, John blocked Braden in on the other side, watching as Braden closed his eyes with a tired sigh and rolled towards his sister before falling still, as though he'd never moved.

"Freaky as hell, Dad," Dean murmured as he shifted to ease the growing ache in his over-worked knee.

"No kidding."

_Yeah, you're right. Freakin' understatement of the year._

John turned the light off a second later, and the room fell silent except for the sound of blankets rustling as everyone tried to settle back to sleep.

* * *

As he idly watched his father load up a spare duffel with everything he thought he'd need while the twins amused themselves in front of the TV, Dean poured another handful of M&Ms into his hand, about to toss back the entire handful when something about the bright yellow bag suddenly caught his eye. And like the proverbial light-bulb going on over his head, Dean was struck by a profound thought.

"Hey, Sammy?" he asked softly, turning his head to look at his brother who was laying beside him reading a book.

_Geek,_ he thought when Sammy didn't look up, too engrossed in his book to notice him.

"Sammy."

"Hmm?" Sam asked distractedly, barely managing to pull his eyes away from the page long enough to look back at his brother.

"Can hamsters eat chocolate?"

"Um…I dunno."

"Well, I mean, dogs can't…so maybe hamsters can't either. Right?"

"Yeah, I guess," Sam said with a shrug.

"Let's find out!" he said with a grin, yanking the book out of Sam's hands and tossing it aside as he dragged Sam off the bed.

"Wha—wait, what?" Sam tried to pull back, only having vaguely listened to a word Dean had said, now found himself trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Dean didn't answer, instead shoving the younger boy ahead of him towards the cage in the corner, a feral gleam in his eye.

_Little bitch is goin' down, and Dad totally can't get me for it--_I'm_ not harming it… Sammy is. And besides, we're only feeding it…_

"Dean, wait, you—"

"Here, give it these," he said, thrusting a handful of M&Ms into Sam's hand.

"All of 'em?" Sam asked, staring down at the spattering of colored peanut M&Ms now beginning to bleed a multicolored rainbow on his hands.

"Yeah, you know, 'cause we hafta be sure. Go on—feed it!"

"Dean, I dunno," Sam told him hesitantly, and Dean frowned, already envisioning his plan falling apart before his eyes. _Don't do this to me, Sammy! C'mon, it's fucking brilliant!_

"C'mon, Sammy, it's just a few…and no one'll ever suspect—"

"Dean." John's voice broke in, his tone freezing Dean in his tracks.

_Shit. Maybe he didn't notice anything. Act casual._

"Sir?"

"Whatever it is that you're trying to convince your brother to do, forget it."

"I wasn't—"

"Son, don't bullshit me. I wasn't born yesterday."

_Damn._

"And Sam? You're on Hamster Detail while I'm gone—you make sure Dean stays away from Boo. Understand this: if I come back and find that stupid thing dead, I'm coming after both of you—you get me?"

"Yes sir," they both replied simultaneously, Sam giving Dean a mean look before he dropped the M&Ms he held into the trashcan and reached for his book.

"What the hell, Sam? You didn't hafta throw 'em away—they were still good!" he complained, delivering a smack to the back of Sam's head.

"Ow, hey! You're the one who gave 'em to me, you big jerk," Sam retorted, reaching out to smack him back. "Besides , they were totally melted anyway!"

"Bitch!" Dean said vehemently, ducking out of the way of his brother's hand, still miffed by the loss of the precious candy. _They're still good, even when they're melty. What a punk. _He was running through possible ways of provoking his brother—some tried and true, others a bit more creative—when their father spoke up.

"Dean, enough," John ordered, not even deigning to turn around as he continued to load up his duffel. Leave your brother alone, and you leave that damn hamster alone while I'm gone, do you understand me?"

"Yes sir."

_Sure, I'll leave it alone while you're gone, Dad. But all bets are off when you get back," _he thought with a sly smile_. You're gettin' sloppy in your old age, Dad...what a shame._

A sharp knock shifted John's attention away from replying as Bobby called through the door, telling John to let him in. Dean set the M&Ms aside and sat up, casting a quick look at the twins to make sure they weren't paying any attention before turning back to his dad and Bobby, eager to find out what Bobby had been able to get from the witch.

"Well?" John asked, opening the door and stepping aside for Bobby to come in.

"I didn't tell her you were involved, so she was feelin' generous."

"Funny," John said dryly, even as Dean grinned. _Smooth, Uncle Bobby. _

"You did tell her I'm not puttin' my kids at risk for a damn spell, right?"

"Not in those exact words, no. But yeah, I told her."

"And?"

"Well…" _Uh-oh._

"Bobby…" John said threateningly, already shaking his head.

"Look, just let me explain…"

"We are NOT putting my children at risk, Bobby!"

"She said the kids don't even have to be there—all we need is a drop of blood from one or both of the twins to invoke the spell. If what you said about the Minion being after them is true, it should bring the thing straight to us."

"You really think either of my eight-year-olds is willingly gonna let you poke them with a sharp object for the purpose of drawing blood for a spell?" John asked the other man incredulously.

"Ask 'em. John, come on, you've gotta be reasonable here—there's no way we can find this thing without the spell, and the spell won't work without blood from one of your little ones. The boys aren't gonna cut it for this one. We're talking about a few drops, here, that's all."

Dean's eyes shifted from Bobby to his father, agreeing with Bobby, but knowing that in this case, his father would not welcome him offering his opinion on the issue. And though keeping his opinion to himself wasn't normally one of Dean's strong suits, in this case, he knew when to leave well enough alone and keep his mouth shut. _Not my kids, not my decision. _John was silent, and Dean merely watched, waiting to see what his father would decide to do.

"John?"

Instead of answering, John sighed, shoving his hand through his hair before turning to look at the twins sitting on the floor.

"Braden."

"Sir?" the little boy asked, looking up from where he and Aubrey were now playing Go Fish on the carpet.

"C'mere. Need to talk to you for a minute."

Considering that their father wasn't much on explaining things, Dean was pretty damn surprised when John sat the little boy down on the foot of the bed and crouched down in front of him.

"I need your help, kiddo."

"Okay. Whatcha need, Daddy?"

"I need a few drops of your blood, son. Figured you'd be more willing than your sister."

"Will it hurt?" Braden asked, worrying his lower lip with his teeth as he stared back at John, and Dean figured it was probably the most childlike thing the kid had said.

"Only a bit," John said, never one to mince words. He didn't often divulge much in the way of information, but when he did, he did it like he did everything else: bluntly.

"How come you need it?"

"Well…Bobby says we can get this thing that took your mom if we use some of your blood in a spell he's got."

"You think it'll work?" Braden asked him, his eyes serious as he looked John in the eye.

"Well, Bobby trusts her, and well, I can't stand witches, but…yeah, I think it'll work."

_Way to reassure him, Dad—that was pretty damn pathetic._

But it must have worked on Braden, because after a moment's consideration, he nodded, obviously worried but prepared to do what needed to be done.

_Way to man up and take one for the team, Braden—nothing like being willing to shed a little blood for a good cause to really welcome you to the family._ Actually, it really was kind of impressive, an eight-year-old agreeing to bleed to help them take down a fugly. _Even if it is just a little cut that'll hardly bleed more than a few drops._

"Can I sit with Dean while you do it, Daddy?" Braden asked suddenly, interrupting Dean's train of thought, and as Braden's request registered, Dean found his eyebrows shooting up, followed just as quickly by a frown.

"Uh, yeah, sure, son," John said, looking more than a little confused by the request as well, his expression mirroring his oldest son's as Braden leaped up, and Dean had just enough time to move his feet off the bed before Braden was jumping onto the mattress.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked as Braden slid closer to him, practically plastering himself to Dean's side as John went to grab his lighter and a small knife.

"I want you to hold my hand, 'cause I'm scared," Braden told him candidly, his blue eyes blinking at Dean.

"Dude," Dean started, having every intention of telling his baby brother that there was no freakin' way he was gonna hold his hand for some "Kum-ba-yah," pansy-ass girl moment. But the look on Braden's face was just as lethal to Dean as Sam's puppy-dog eyes, and with an annoyed sigh, Dean allowed Braden to grab his hand, burying his face in Dean's shoulder as John came forward, running the tip of the knife through the flame from his lighter, sterilizing it before crouching down in front of Braden. Without peeking, Braden thrust his hand out at John, clenching Dean's hand in his other.

"Do it fast, Daddy, so it won't hurt so bad," he mumbled.

With a sad smile, John shared a look with Dean before running his hand over Braden's hair and grasping the little boy's hand, slicing his fingertip neatly with the knife. Braden whimpered, tightening his hold on Dean.

"Dad, what are you doin'?" Sam asked suddenly.

_Welcome back to reality, dorkus. _

"Nothin' you need to worry about, Sam."

"Dad, you just cut Braden's finger open! Why shouldn't I be worried?!"

"Don't exaggerate—I just nicked him a bit," John said distractedly, gently squeezing Braden's finger, tipping the beaded drops of blood into a small vial as Dean and Sam looked on, the former with a mild disinterest and the latter with incredulous dismay.

"Are you almost done, Daddy?" Braden asked, sounding a step away from tears now that the pain in his finger was beginning to register.

"Yep, all done," John said easily, passing the vial back to Bobby while he grabbed a piece of gauze and held it on Braden's finger.

"Bray, you alright?" Aubrey asked suddenly, climbing to her feet and hurrying over as the sound of Braden's sniffles began to register. She slid around John, plopping down on the bed beside her brother and patting his back soothingly.

_Okay, somebody's gotta do something and fast. There is no way in hell I'm gonna sit back and watch my little brother grow up to be a complete pansy. Gotta take care of this now before he turns into a total girl. _

"Ah, look—it's nothing, Braden. One Band-aid and you're good," Dean told the little boy, pulling back slightly as he took Braden's hand from their father's grip, peeling the gauze away to show the eight-year-old the small cut on his finger. "See, it's nothing," he told him again, giving his brother a cocky half-smile. "'Sides, chicks dig this stuff."

"But I don't like girls, Dean," Braden pointed out, his sniffles and his stinging finger forgotten as he looked up at his older brother. "They're into all that stupid girl stuff."

"You like Aubrey. She's a girl."

"Yeah, but she don't count—she's a sister."

"Well, real girls—not sisters—are fuckin' awesome. Just wait, you'll see," Dean told him, only just then realizing that he was probably going to get bitched at for dropping the f-bomb in front of his eight-year-old brother after they'd been told to clean up their language a bit. Or at least the harsher words. _Shit_, he thought, glancing up at his father to gauge his reaction only to find the older man looking back at him with a small, grateful smile. Without a word, John reached a hand up, cupping Dean's cheek fondly for a moment before dropping a Band-aid into Dean's lap and walking away.

Feeling his heart ease, Dean smirked before he picked up the Band-aid and began to peel the wrapper off, neatly wrapping it around Braden's finger with the ease of years of practice.

Completely embarrassed when Braden threw his arms around his neck and hugged him, Dean awkwardly patted the little boy's back before lifting him and setting him back on the floor, motioning with his head for Aubrey to follow suit. She hopped down with a smile for him, and Dean watched them hurry back to the pile of abandoned playing cards on the floor while Sam eyed their father one more time before turning a mischievous smile on his older brother.

_Oh hell. What is it now?_

"So…since you just hugged Braden and all, I guess that means you don't hate them anymore, huh?" Sam said teasingly.

"Ah, shut-up…"

"Cause I mean, damn, bro—you were almost…_girly_ just then," Sam said with a wide grin.

"It was just a stupid Band-aid," Dean told him, knowing even as he said it that it was a totally weak argument.

"Dean," John called, and Dean gave a silent sigh of relief that he'd been saved from listening to whatever else his little brother had come up with to use against him after that little moment of weakness.

"Bitch," he whispered at Sam with a grin as he stood up and went to join his father at the table. "Sir?"

"We're gonna head out. If everything goes according to plan, we should be back by morning. If we're not back in two days, you know what to do."

"Yes sir," Dean replied with a nod.

"Keep your eyes open, watch out for Sam and the twins. Keep them safe."

"I will."

_I always do._

"And Braden?" John continued, shifting his attention to the smallest of the Winchester boys, "I want that shit off the door by the time I get back, understand? I want the damn security deposit back on the room, and I won't get it if there's crayon shit all over the damn place." _Way to watch your language there, Dad,_ Dean thought with a grin, realizing well enough that his father used profanity so often that it didn't even register most of the time.

"But Daddy—" Braden began, his eyes beseeching as he looked at the partially finished trap on the door.

"Are you arguing with me?"

"No sir," Braden said grudgingly.

_Good answer, Bray._

"Aubrey, you listen to Dean, alright? Don't give him any trouble," he said gruffly and she nodded, looking at him sadly before jumping to her feet and running to him, throwing her arms around his waist.

"Daddy, please don't go!"

"Baby, I've got to. We talked about this—I know it sucks, but I'll be back as soon as I can, okay? You'll be safe here with your brothers, alright?"

"'kay," she whispered unhappily. "I love you, Daddy."

"Love you, too, sweetheart," John mumbled gruffly, hugging her close before releasing her and stepping towards the door behind Bobby. "Boys, be careful. And Sam? Look after the hamster."

_Damn._

* * *

"Braden, shouldn't you be, you know, trying to get the crayon off the door?" Sam asked several hours later, the sun beginning to set outside even as they settled down with weapons, books, sketchpads, or coloring books respectively.

"No, I don't want to," Braden replied with a shrug, not looking up from his sketchbook as he concentrated on a specific line he was drawing.

"But Dad told you—"

"I know, but I don't want to," Braden said again. "Not right now. Maybe later."

Sam looked at Dean, but Dean just shrugged. _What can I say, Sammy? He's a Winchester—you can't expect him to explain the weird shit he does. Besides, it'll be _his_ ass that gets spanked for it if he doesn't get it done, so why annoy him about it?_

"Well, you've gotten off light, since you're new and all," Sam continued, "but if you don't have it gone by the time Dad gets back like he said, he's totally gonna have your ass for it. He gets pissed if we don't do what he says," Sam told the younger boy knowledgeably.

_Yeah, and you'd know, wouldn't you, Sammy? _Dean thought with a rueful shake of his head as he placed the newly-sharpened Bowie knife back under the pillow and reached for the Glock and the gun-cleaning kit.

As he began to work his way through the familiar task of cleaning each weapon, his hands took over, leaving his mind free to wander aimlessly, peacefully. Vaguely, he was aware of his siblings shifting, moving on to different activities as the night grew later, but he knew instinctively that it was nothing he needed to worry about, so he sank deeper into the solitude, finding himself surprisingly glad to not have to entertain Sam endlessly.

_Guess there's an advantage to having two more Winchesters around…they can keep Sammy outta my hair for a bit._ Not that he disliked his little brother—matter of fact, Sam was the closest friend he had. But occasionally, it was nice to get time to himself, time to think, to regroup.

Deep in thought, he couldn't really say what it was that made him pause. Setting down the pistol he was cleaning, he frowned, his eyes scanning the room for the source of his misgiving.

Turning to the floor where Sam was noisily trying to teach Aubrey how to play "Gin Rummy" with their well-used deck of playing cards, he snapped, "Hey, shut-up a minute."

They looked up then, and from the corner of his eye, Dean could see Braden glance up from his sketchbook to stare at him as well.

_Something's wrong._

Climbing to his feet, Dean reached for the shotgun by the bed, his fingers tightening around the barrel as he lifted it up. Sam immediately picked up on his brother's disquiet, dropping the cards and standing as well.

"What's wrong, Dean?"

"Something's not right."

"How do you know?"

"It just doesn't feel right," Dean murmured, his eyes locking onto the door with growing unease.

"Sam, what's wrong? Why's Dean grabbin' a gun?" Aubrey asked with increasing apprehension, her eyes widening as she looked back and forth between Sam and Dean.

Sam shushed her, his eyes on his older brother even as his sister latched onto him, her fingers clinging tightly to his shirt as Braden looked on with silent alarm.

The lights began to flicker, and for a moment, Dean hoped that it just signaled a spirit, or at worst, a poltergeist. But with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Dean recalled that spirits weren't the only fuglies that made lights flicker.

_Please don't be a demon. Please don't be a demon._

"Dean?" Sam whispered anxiously.

"What?"

"My watch just stopped."

_Fuck._

"Why are the lights doing that?" Aubrey whimpered, gazing back at Dean as she began to give in to outright panic. "Make 'em stop, Dean!"

"Sam, did you lay a salt line at the bathroom window?"

"Oh, shit! Dean, the humidity in there messes it up—I was gonna wait until after the twins showered," Sam said, his tone at once both apologetic and panicked.

"Do it now, Sam!" Dean yelled as he grabbed for his father's duffel, praying he'd find a flask of holy water inside. But Sam had taken no more than one step toward the door when the sound of glass shattering echoed from the bathroom, and Dean knew they'd run out of time. Leaving the bag where it was, Dean raised the shotgun to his shoulder, aiming for the bathroom door.

Aubrey screamed, dropping to the bed and crawling under the bed before Sam could stop her.

"Sam, get her out of there!" Dean roared, even as Braden stooped down, his hands reaching under the bed to grab his sister.

"Aubrey, you can't stay there!" Sam yelled, dropping as well, slithering halfway under the bed in a desperate attempt to reach her.

"Sam, hurry up!" he yelled as the bathroom door was blasted open, the cheap wood splintering into dozens of shards that exploded into the room, forcing Dean to duck to avoid them. Wincing when a shard struck him across the temple anyway, he ignored the feel of the hot blood running down his face as he raised the shotgun once again, preparing to face whatever came through the door.

_Hurry, Sam—get them outta here, now!_

"Sam, do you have her?" he yelled.

"Almost," Sam said with a grunt, the reply followed almost immediately by a panic-stricken Aubrey being hauled out from under the bed with a shriek of terror.

"Go, Sam!"

But Dean didn't have to take his eyes off the door to know that Sam was struggling to hang onto their sister, the little girl flailing and kicking as she fought to get away from Sam's restraining hands. Braden jumped to his feet to help, only to freeze when a figure stepped through the bathroom door, looking none the worse for wear for having come in through a broken window.

"Mama?" Aubrey asked, stilling as she stared up at the woman now standing in the doorway with an eerie smile.

_Oh shit. The Minion_, Dean thought with wide eyes as he stared back at the red-haired woman with the cold blue gaze, their blue hue so much like Aubrey and Braden's, yet so different now. _Guess things change when your soul isn't the one in the driver's seat anymore. _

"Mama!" Aubrey cried happily, "Mama, I knew you'd come back for us! Sam, let go! It's my mama!"

"No it isn't!" Sam yelled, hauling back on her as she struggled in his arms.

Dean's finger tightened on the trigger, only a millimeter away from firing. He knew that the consecrated iron rounds loaded in the shotgun usually didn't do much against a demon, but it would at least slow it down.

_Maybe. _

The Minion stared back at him with eyes that were dead inside before she smiled sweetly, turning that empty gaze on the youngest Winchester.

"Sam, Impala—take them and go!" Dean barked, his finger tightening imperceptibly on the trigger as he prepared to shoot, his father's words echoing in his mind. _"Protect your brothers and sister, Dean. Whatever it takes._"

But as Sam tried desperately to drag the resistant eight-year-old towards the door, the Minion shifted, moving to block the door. And Dean suddenly had to focus his full attention on the Minion, knowing well enough that he could ill afford any more glances at Sam and Aubrey. He tracked it with the shotgun and his eyes, never once breaking his stare, watching for any sign of it making the first move. It watched him with a coy smile on its pretty face, the effect ruined by the cold reptilian stare. They began to circle one another in the slow dance of an approaching clash, and even at only seventeen, Dean knew the dance well enough to know it was coming and coming fast.

"Leaving so soon? But I've been looking for them everywhere," it murmured softly, the words emerging in a thick Southern drawl that was reminiscent of Aubrey's. "Little lambs…so sweet…," it continued, before turning that eerie-as-hell gaze on Dean. "You wouldn't be so foolish as to keep me from what's mine, would you?"

"Haven't you heard that possession is nine-tenths of the law? You see, they're ours now. Even put our name on 'em—Winchester. And I don't give up what's mine, especially to some hell-bitch like you," Dean sneered. "Now I don't like clichés, but…well…if you want 'em, you're gonna have to go through me first," Dean told her with a casual shrug and an apologetic smile.

"Let's not be overhasty," it said magnanimously, its gaze calculating as it stared back at him. "I can be generous. Give me what I want, and you and that one there need not be harmed. I'll take what I came for and go," it told him reasonably.

"Well, here's the thing—I don't make deals with hell-spawn. So, sorry, but the answer's 'no.'"

"Your loss. Too bad—I was willing to make an exception for you, since you've kept them so safe for me…But tell me, where's the other one?" The friendly question, delivered in a gentle tone was so at odds with the predatory look on its face that it took Dean a moment to process the words. Casting a quick glance around the room, he suddenly realized that Braden was nowhere to be found.

_Oh fuck, where is he?! _

Dean felt his stomach drop when he realized he hadn't heard a thing from Braden, his senses so focused on Aubrey, Sam, and the Minion that he had failed to notice when Braden's presence had vanished.

_Fuck, don't let on…lock it down and don't show anything. Never show 'em your weaknesses._

"No matter," it said benignly when Dean failed to reply. "He'll keep. In the meantime, this one will do," it murmured, turning back to Aubrey with that smile, the smile that sent chills down Dean's back. "Come to Mama, sweetheart," the Minion crooned, crouching down and holding out her arms for the little girl to run, too. Sam backed up, his sister held tightly in his arms even as Dean moved to once again put himself in between them and the Minion.

"Sam," was all Dean had to say, his tone calm but resolute, and Sam responded without argument, knowing what he needed to do. Jerking Aubrey down to the floor, Sam slid back under the bed, pulling Aubrey in after him as the little girl sobbed, desperate to reach her mother.

_That's right, Sammy, just like we taught you—when it looks like things are going to hell in a hand-basket, and your exit's blocked, hunker down and take cover. Now where the fuck is Braden?_

"You think you can keep me from what I came for?" it hissed, a sneer crossing Elaine's features, making what was once a beautiful face turn ugly with hatred. "Fool!"

"Stay away from my sister, you bitch," Dean said in a low voice, and pushing aside the sense of regret he felt at shooting at something with a human face, he fired a round straight into its chest

"No, Dean, don't shoot my mommy!" Aubrey screamed at him from under the bed, her scared eyes staring back at him with a look of utter devastation on her face as the Minion screamed out with rage and pain. _I'm sorry, Aubrey, but I gotta do what I have to._

"You come any closer, bitch, and I'll blow your _fucking_ head off," Dean warned, his voice emerging in a deep guttural tone that was reminiscent of his father's, his eyes narrowed menacingly as he chambered another round, the empty shell falling to the floor as Aubrey's pleas went unanswered.

"Dean, please don't do it! Please! Mama's not bad!" she yelled, desperately trying to get away from Sam's restraining hold. The ache he felt at hearing her words hurt more than he would have ever imagined, but he knew what it would cost them all if he listened to them.

_I'm sorry._

"That's right, baby," the Minion said, its face smoothing into a picture of innocence as it turned to Aubrey with its smile in place once more. "I'm not bad—it's just me, your mama. Why don't you tell Braden to come on out, and we'll all go home, okay?" it said, the tender words just what the scared little girl wanted to hear.

_Oh fuck. How the hell do I compete with that? Sam, don't you dare lose hold of her!_

"Shut up!" Dean shouted. "Don't talk to her!"

"And what do you really think _you_ can do to_ me_? You're just a wounded meat-suit, hardly worth the trouble of possession," it said, examining him with a critical eye before cocking its head at him speculatively. "But perhaps I'm being a bit hasty. Your body might be less than worthy as a host, but your soul, on the other hand, might prove to be quite agreeable to my tastes."

"Yeah? Over my dead body," he said, taking careful aim at its head with steadfast resolve.

"Very well, if you insist," the Minion said easily, shrugging lightly. "What is it they say? Ah yes, 'it's no skin off my nose'—I don't need your body to take your soul," it said with a twisted smile, moving forward even as Dean pulled the trigger again, ignoring Aubrey's screams to stop and watching with a blank mask as the round tore through the Minion's chest. The Minion was only put off for a moment before it reached Dean, backhanding him hard enough to send him to the floor.

_Don't drop the gun, don't drop the gun,_ Dean repeated as he shook the pain that had exploded in his face away and got to his knees. Raising the shotgun to his shoulder and chambering the next round in one smooth move, he started to fire, only to have the Minion knock his arm away at the last minute, throwing the shot off-target. Reaching forward, the Minion grabbed his shoulder with one hand, jerking the gun away with the other and tossing it aside as it glared down at him.

_Oh shit._

The next blow sent him reeling back to the floor, practically face-planting into the puke-green carpet, and almost before he could catch his breath, the blow was followed up by a kick in his side. Luckily, it wasn't the side he'd injured before, but it still hurt like a bitch.

He rolled away from the next kick, gaining his feet only to feel his heart freeze at the realization that the Minion was now between him and his brother and sister.

_Move, now!_

With a roar of outrage, Dean threw himself at the Minion in a line-drive that would have made any football coach proud, even as he prayed that his knee wouldn't give out on him. Driving the Minion to the floor and away from the bed that sheltered Sam and Aubrey, Dean straddled its torso and slammed his fist into its face, ignoring the pain that shot through his hand when he hit the bones in its face. Without pausing, he grabbed hold of its hair, wrapping the long, red strands in his fist and slamming its head into the floor, even as Aubrey screamed wordlessly.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

The Minion bucked, throwing him off and following the move with a right cross to Dean's face.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, watching from under the bed helplessly as he held Aubrey to his side, turning her face into his chest so she couldn't see anymore. _Wish you'd done that sooner, _Dean thought as he regained his footing once more and looked for an opening. "Dean, let me help you!"

"NO, Sammy! Stay with Aubrey!" he yelled, knowing that if Sam relinquished his hold for even a moment that Aubrey would run straight for the Minion.

Spotting what he was looking for, Dean lashed out with a vicious kick, catching the Minion behind the knee in a well-placed blow that jerked its legs right out from under it. Glancing around for anything that he could use as a weapon, he smiled when he saw that the TV on the TV stand just happened to be in the perfect position now, stationed right above the fallen Minion. Reaching up, he brought the whole damn thing crashing down on it, but the Minion moved just in time to avoid the TV smashing into its face.

_Dammit!_

The screen of the TV broke, and Dean tried to get his hands on a piece of it, but the Minion jerked him up, slinging him across the room and following with the promise of retaliation in those sinister blue eyes.

As Dean once again got his feet under him, it backhanded him so hard that Dean could hear his ears ringing from the blow, even as blood began to trickle from the corner of his mouth and nose. He promptly returned the favor but knew relatively quickly that things were going to get even uglier pretty damn fast.

_How the hell do you beat the demonic version of a reanimated corpse into submission?_ Because that's all it was, he knew, the Minion walking around in Elaine's empty body, her soul trapped wherever it was that Minions kept souls, its sick, perverse form twisting Elaine's soul up inside its darkness. _Probably tormenting the hell out of her…shit, is it making her watch it come after her kids? _

"I grow weary of this, boy—you can't win."

"Maybe not," Dean bit out, "but I'm sure as hell not gonna make it easy for you."

It grabbed him by the throat, then, slamming him into the wall and pinning him there, its hand beginning to squeeze.

"How about I end this now, and consume that pretty little soul of yours?" it asked with a sinister smile, bringing Elaine's hand up to touch his face lovingly. "Yes, your soul is absolutely brimming with pain—it would make a lovely addition to my collection, all pretty and dark," she whispered.

"Sorry," Dean strained to say past the hold it had on his neck, "It's fucked up…but I like it…where it is…" With those creepy-ass eyes burning into him, the Minion tightened its grip, and Dean could sense the darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision even as his father's words rang in his ears.

"_Watch out for Sam and the twins. Keep them safe." Can't…give..in… Do… something… dammit! _

Rallying the last of his strength, he head-butted it, slamming his forehead into its nose, guessing correctly that it would release him out of sheer surprise. He dropped to the floor, coughing and trying to regain his breath through a now painfully swollen throat. The Minion reached for him, forcing Dean 

to move fast despite the tightness in his throat. Rolling until he came up next to his and Sam's bed, his hand reached automatically for the knife he kept under his pillow before dodging away once more, unwilling to put the Minion within reach of his younger brother and sister. He knew well enough that the Minion could easily use either of his siblings against him, and he wasn't about to give it an opening to do just that.

_Force it to keep moving, don't give it a chance to get them._

Wielding the knife in a sure hand, tightening his grip as he watched the Minion's evil gaze linger on him.

_I really don't wanna do this_, Dean thought, his mind already conjuring up images of himself slicing into a body that, for all intents and purposes, still looked like a woman, a mother. But such thoughts were weakness, and he shoved them away with ruthless efficiency as he and the Minion circled each other, resuming the steps of the dance they'd begun what seemed like ages ago. The knife held tightly in his fist, the blade parallel with the floor, he waited for the Minion to make the first move.

It lunged forward, and Dean swung, catching it on the arm with a deep cut that began to bleed immediately. Not waiting for the Minion to regroup, Dean twisted, shoving the knife deeply into its gut, fighting back the sick feeling he was getting as he felt the hot spray of blood spill onto his hands. Suddenly, the Minion grabbed Dean's knife-hand in an iron grip, squeezing as it jerked the hilt out and shifted its hold to his wrist, forcing the knife to fall from his limp fingers.

_Shit! _

Pausing only long enough to kick the knife aside, it dropped his hand and caught him on the backswing with a blow that sent him crashing into the table with enough force to break the damn thing in two. _Ow—bitch, that hurt. _Pushing aside the pain that erupted in his torso, he got his knees under him, grinning suddenly when he saw she'd basically shoved him to within arm's reach of the knife she'd just kicked away from him. _Pretty fucking stupid, demon. _He regained his footing in the midst of the table's wreckage, his hand closing on the knife's hilt, and with a bloody smile, he slammed into her, jabbing the knife into its side before darting back, once again resuming the dance.

_C'mon, bitch, make a move._

And make a move it did, grabbing up a chair and wielding it like a baseball bat as she slammed it into Dean. He turned at the last minute, taking most of the hit on his back and shoulder, but it was enough to drop him to his knees again, the blinding pain that shot through his injured knee momentarily stunning him. And as the shattered remains of the chair fell to the ground around him, Dean realized with dismay that the knife had slipped from his blood-slick hands.

_Oh shit, not again. _

Preparing himself for another blow, knowing that it was damn unlikely that he'd be able to recover the knife before he was attacked again, Dean braced himself only to stare back at the Minion in a fog of confusion when it suddenly reeled back from him, clawing at its face as water dripped and steamed off its skin.

_What the—nevermind, Dean! Don't question your luck—just fucking do something!_

Using the moment of distraction, Dean lunged for the lamp on the bedside table, bringing it down on the Minion's head in a shower of porcelain and glass. Dazed by the blow, it fell backwards, and Dean scrambled forward on his hands and knees, slamming his fist into the Minion's face, unwilling to leave anything to chance.

He didn't stop until he'd beaten the demon into total unconsciousness, the small, frail form of its host allowing Dean a temporary advantage. One that he knew wouldn't last very long. Only then did he look up, stunned to see Braden standing near him, an uncapped, black Sharpie in one bleeding hand and an open flask of holy water from John's bag in the other.

_Where the hell did he come from? How the…fuck it. Save it for later. Dad. We need Dad, _he thought, spitting blood onto the floor as he fought to hold back a painful cough. _No, rope first. Gotta hold it until Dad gets back. Impala. _

"Sammy—need you to go get rope from the car," he said hoarsely, his throat feeling tight and raw as a result of his near strangulation at the hands of the Minion.

"Nevermind that, Dean," Braden interrupted, his eyes solemn as he dropped the Sharpie and hurried forward, grabbing Dean's shirt and pulling on him. "Drag it in here."

"Braden, what are you—?"

"You need to trust me," the little boy told him, gazing back at him seriously. "Now, hurry—I'm too small to do it myself, so you have to do it."

Dean stared at his youngest brother, trying to make sense of the words coming out of his mouth, words that seemed so out of place coming from a kid Braden's age.

"Now, damn it!" Braden said vehemently, his tone breaking Dean out of his stupor in the same way that their father's forceful tones always could. _Sure, Bray, why the hell not?_ he thought sarcastically_. I've only had the shit beat out of me. But whatever you say. _Stumbling to his feet, wincing at the pain that immediately shot through his knee and his ribcage, he grabbed hold of the Minion's arm, hauling it upward until he could swing the body over his shoulder.

_Okay, this hurts like a bitch…but it's better than dragging it the whole way. Still…ow._

Reaching the bathroom, Dean paused in the doorway, his eyebrow quirking at the sight of the devil's trap drawn on the dirty floor. _Huh._ _Guess that explains the black Sharpie. Hell, he musta done that pretty damn fast. Impressive._ Dumping the Minion into the center of it, he eyed the broken window.

"Dean? Do we still need the rope?" Sam asked from behind him, and Dean turned to see him standing by the bed, holding an eerily silent Aubrey in his arms as he stared back at Dean questioningly.

"No, forget that for now," he told him, wincing when his voice emerged sounding like he'd swallowed broken glass. "Just get the salt. We need to salt the window in here, and the door, too. Just in case."

"I'll get it," Braden said, sliding past Dean and hurrying out to fetch the bag of salt, returning a moment later and laying lines at the window and door as Dean had instructed.

Nodding, Dean pushed them all out ahead of him, pulling the door shut behind him to block the sight of the Minion before sitting down abruptly on the bed, his entire body throbbing with pain as he stared back at his siblings.

_Now what?_

"Dean, what do we do now?" Sam asked softly.

"Just gimme a minute, okay?" Dean mumbled, grimacing as he probed his lower lip, flinching at the puffiness that signaled swelling. Shaking his head, he scrubbed the back of his neck with one hand, tired and beaten to hell. He gave his hair a frustrated tug before heaving a sigh, looking up from the floor to find Sam staring at him, Aubrey still held tightly in his arms.

_Shit. Aubrey._

"Aubrey?" he said hesitantly, not really certain what he should say, but knowing instinctively that he had to say something. "Aubrey, I'm sorry," he murmured, looking at her regretfully, not even certain why it bothered him so much that she was upset with him.

_Hell, a week ago, I didn't even think I liked them. So how come I gotta care _now_? Dammit!_

He waited for her to say something, to scream at him, to hit him—something. But she didn't do anything except bury her face in Sam's neck and hold on for dear life, and even from the bed, Dean could tell she was shaking.

_Dad, we need you here. I don't know what to do._

* * *

A/N: Well, the good news is, it shouldn't be a long wait for Chapter 20, everyone! It's pretty much done, I think, minus a bit of tweaking. It'll probably be about a week, but we'll see. I plan to start 21 soon, but you can keep track of progress via my profile page if you want. I try to update it with reports frequently. Anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter, and let me know what you thought!

**PRaCK**: As you can see, I decided to abbreviate your pen name. I figured you'd appreciate me doing anything I could to get this chapter out faster! LOL! Then again, what if you don't realize that I'm talking to you…guess I'll just tell you, seeing as how we're chatting online while I write this. LOL! Anyways, as my first reviewer for last chapter, you get top billing—congratulations! Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing—twice, actually. I'm glad you're liking Aubrey and Dean—what do you think? Did I do him justice in this chapter? I at least got in another hamster scene for this one, so I hope you enjoy it as much as the list from Chapter 18. Oh, and thanks—you sent me my 100th review! Yay! Anyways, I'll talk to you soon!

**Hero Lilly**: Thanks for reviewing again! I was glad to hear that Chapter 18 topped 17. I'm working on topping 18 with 19, so let me know how I do! LOL! Expect to see Braden's side story develop into a more central plot-line as the Minion-issue gets resolved! Soon!

**michelexXx**: Thanks for reviewing—I appreciate it! I hope this chapter was worth the wait!

**jade1056**: Well, here was another long chapter—hope it was as good as the last. Thanks for letting me know what you thought about the character interactions, as well as for the compliment. The storyline is going to start veering towards Braden's issue, so expect that as well as a continuation of "Fun Times with the Winchesters"—LOL! Thanks for reviewing!

**nightingale**: Thanks for the compliment on the last chapter! Did you have a nice vacation? I love that you really get involved in what's going on with each character—you pick up on the subtle aspects of the characters' behavior/thoughts really well. Oh, and when you mentioned Aubrey spilling the beans about Sam playing Barbies, I have to say, it totally didn't even occur to me to go that route. But I thought about it after you said something, and I decided that I didn't really want her to spill the beans about it—I want the trust level to be maintained, and if she'd told their secret, it would have ruined something for them both. Besides, if I can tie it in, I have plans for a Dean and Aubrey scene that will ruin any chance for Dean to use the Barbie issue against his brother (if he ever found out). We'll see. But I'm glad you enjoyed the Ken vs. GI Joe scene! I took what you said about Sam seeming too sarcastic for his age in the last chapter to heart, so I tried to do better this go-round. Although, I could argue that Sam is quite old for his age ;) LOL! Oh, and the answer to your question concerning Dean's fear of Boo will be answered in Chapter 20. I couldn't fit it into this chapter, but I managed to tie it in for you in Chapter 20. He is, in fact, afraid of all rodents—not just Boo. Pretty cool idea, though, for Boo to be a representation of the twins' existence—wish I'd thought of it! LOL! Anyways, thanks so much for your insightful review—it helps a lot!

**CagedTroll**: Yeah, I decided to go for a normal brothers-sister moment and let the boys tease Aubrey a bit. I couldn't help myself. LOL! Glad that you enjoyed the list! Poor John, though—he's got so much to worry about that he can't possibly keep up with it all! Oh, and as far as the bit about Dean actually getting his musical tastes from John…well, I'd already established the country music as John's favorite before "Dream a Little Dream of Me" aired. And I decided I'd stick with it! But thinks for noticing it—that's why I get you to beta—gotta catch those detail discrepancies. Expect Chapter 20 in your inbox soon!

**zuimar**: I'm glad you liked Bobby's appearance. He'll have a minor part in Chapter 20, as well, but he's gonna go his own way soon after. BUT, someone else will be coming onto the scene, so don't worry! Anyways, how'd you like the Minion bit? Final resolution will be in Chapter 20, but most of the action was here—let me know what you thought! Thanks for reviewing!!


	20. A Resonating Silence

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Sorry, once again, for the long wait! I decided to go ahead with it, because I've kept you guys waiting long enough! I'm trying, I really am. Thanks, mimishell, for beta-ing this chapter for me!

Chapter 20—A Resonating Silence

"Bobby, what the hell? I thought you said this would work," John bit out, heaving an annoyed sigh as he they stood watching absolutely nothing happen.

_I knew this spell shit would be a waste of time—we lost almost two damn days for this. Absolute bullshit. And once again, witches prove to be completely worthless. Course, it could be worse—something _could_ have gone wrong. _Still, John Winchester had never been one to take failure well, and the current situation was no exception.

His eyes narrowed as his temper frayed, the flames of the candles Bobby had carefully placed seeming to mock him with the lack of success.

"This was a fucking waste of time," he growled, grabbing the nearby bucket of water and dousing the entire set-up.

"Dammit, John—these things aren't like a drive-in Burger King: you don't get things your way right away. Your lack of patience is gonna get you killed one day," Bobby complained as he gazed at the remains of his spell-work.

"What the hell are you talking about? We gave it plenty of time to work—we've been here for hours now."

"Well these things take time. It hasn't been all that long since we actually did the spell."

John had a scathing reply ready and was just opening his mouth to deliver it when his phone rang. Frowning at Bobby, he reached for the cell in his back pocket, flipping it open and answering it in one breath.

"Yeah?"

"Daddy, come back! It's here!"

Braden's panicked words registered with a suddenness that left John reeling, even as he felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach.

"Braden, where are you? Are you safe?"

"I climbed out the bathroom window when it wasn't looking! But Daddy, you gotta come now! Dean and Aubby and Sam couldn't sneak out—it's gonna hurt 'em!"

"We're on our way—stay out of sight, son. Go hide under the Impala and stay—"

"I gotta go—Dean needs help—hurry, Daddy!" Braden cut in, and a second later, an ominous silence seemed to echo in John's ear as "Call ended" blinked at him from the phone's screen.

_NO, dammit! _

"It's there—we gotta go now, Bobby," John said forcefully, hauling ass out to his truck with Bobby right on his heels.

"I don't understand how this happened, John," Bobby told him solemnly, shaking his head in confusion.

"I'll tell you how it happened!" John yelled back, his temper getting the best of him as fear for his children swept through him. "That damn witch laid one over on us—because I listened to _you_!"

John made the thirty minute drive in about fifteen minutes, pulling the truck to a screeching halt in front of the motel room. Hurling himself from the truck, he reached the door of the room and, with one powerful thrust of his booted foot, kicked the door in.

Only to come to an abrupt halt when he saw his four children gathered on one of the beds with varying degrees of distress amidst the bloodstained ruins that were all that remained of most of the furniture. Of the Minion, there was no sign of its presence that John could see at first glance.

_Fuck, what did it do to them? Dean looks beat to hell, and Aubrey is— _

He cut off the train of worried thought with sheer ruthlessness, knowing that as much as he wanted to look his children over, to assure himself that they were okay, they couldn't afford for him to be distracted.

_First things first, John—make sure they're safe before you let your guard down._

"Where is it?" he asked, hurrying inside and making his way through the debris, his eyes darting around the room in search of their prey.

"Bathroom," Dean answered shortly, and John started for the closed bathroom door when Sam scoffed.

"Yeah, Dad, we're fine, by the way. Thanks for checkin' on us," the thirteen-year-old told him resentfully.

"Sammy, don't," Dean told him, the weariness and pain in his voice enough to halt the younger boy's argument, even if his father's presence wasn't.

"Samuel—if that demon isn't secure, more than just Dean is gonna look like shit—we'll _all_ be at risk. We have to take care of this, and we've gotta do it now, before things get more out hand."

"Yeah, whatever," Sam mumbled, and John just turned away, continuing for the bathroom door.

"How'd you secure it, Dean?"

"Um…Bray drew a devil's trap—we got it inside. Salt at the window and door. Was gonna tie her up, but….well, we didn't have a lot of time…and…I'm sorry, Dad," Dean told him softly, his battered face tinged with regret.

"It's alright—you kept your brothers and sister safe, that's all I expected."

"But I didn't," Dean whispered. "Not really," he finished, his eyes flickering at Aubrey, who was sitting in Sam's lap, her face buried in his t-shirt, eerily still.

"We'll talk later," John told him, having a sinking feeling that things were about as bad as they could be. _My children look like war refugees from a third-world country. And hell, I haven't even had the twins a month and they've already got that thousand-yard-stare. Shit. I can't deal with this right now. I just gotta take care of business first._

He pushed aside the worry the same way he pushed aside everything else he didn't want to deal with at any given moment and grabbed up his journal, tucking the pistol into his waistband and picking up a flask of holy water before heading for the bathroom with Bobby right behind him.

The Minion crouched in the middle of the trap, its lifeless blue eyes blinking once at him before shimmering into an inky blackness. Staring at the angry, twisted visage of a woman he'd once known, he was suddenly struck by an intense bitterness as well as regret, well aware that he hadn't been able to keep Elaine safe. The fact that the evil son of a bitch was currently inhabiting Elaine's body ate at him, rage and hatred taking the place of the bitter regret at the sight of a woman he'd once held in his arms, now a pawn in some demonic game of chess where John didn't even have a chance at seeing all of the pieces on the board.

"I just wanna know why," John growled. "Tell me why."

"Why what?" the Minion asked playfully, its tone at odds with the gaping wounds and the blood covering its body.

"Why did you come after my children, dammit?!" John roared.

"You really don't know?" it asked, looking back at him with those black, empty eyes, a twisted smile on her face.

"Tell me what I want to know!" he yelled, slinging holy water on the demon with barely controlled rage. It hissed with pain, its body writhing as the water burned its flesh.

"John," Bobby broke in, his voice low as he stepped up to John's shoulder, as though sensing that John's control was slipping.

"What?" John bit out, angry at the intrusion as his eyes remained fixed on the Minion's form.

"If you're gonna interrogate this thing, we need to get control of those captured souls—this thing could torment them easily just for the hell of it. You piss it off by questioning it this way, and they're gonna suffer," the other man told him softly.

"Fine. Get it done, then."

John stepped back, allowing Bobby to maneuver past him into the small bathroom, the amulet he'd procured cradled carefully in the older man's hands.

_Let's hope the damn witch's amulet works better than the fucking spell she gave us did. _

As Bobby began the Latin chant that would call the souls away from the Minion, John glanced back from his place in the doorway, eyeing his children with a discerning gaze. Aubrey was still in Sam's lap, her little body limp in his arms, and if that wasn't enough to worry John, her silence alone would have clued him in that something was horribly wrong. Braden was hovering beside Dean, who only looked marginally better than the Minion.

_Looks like he'll be getting patched up until the wee hours of the morning. Just like always._

"Dean, can you function?"

"Yes sir. If you need me to help with the Minion—"

"Nah, Bobby and I have got this covered. I need you to haul ass—grab as much of our shit as you can get in one trip, load your brothers and sister in the Impala, and get outta here. Don't worry about whose stuff is whose, and don't try to get everything—just shove what you can into the nearest bag and go. Bobby and I will get the rest."

"But Dad, we can't just –"

"Son, I'm worried that someone's gonna call the police. If they haven't already. I don't have time to argue with you—now do what I said, and get moving."

"Yes sir," Dean mumbled, stifling a groan as he climbed to his feet and reached for the closest bag. Sam remained where he was with Aubrey in his arms, casting John a dark look that almost dared the older man to protest.

_Of course he gives me a hard time when we're right in the middle of a damn exorcism. But what the hell does he expect me to do? I can't call a fucking time-out just to chit-chat. No matter how much I want to._

Staring back at his children, he knew he ought to say something, anything, to make things better—for Sam and for Aubrey, hell, for all of them. But really, what was there to say?

As the Minion began to hiss and screech, John turned back to the Minion, relieved to be granted a reprieve, momentary as it may be, from the painful emotional tension. As Bobby's words caused the Minion to writhe in the floor, John watched with an impersonal expression, holding back the urge to wince at the guttural sounds of pain erupting from Elaine's throat.

An unholy scream filled the room as swirls of barely discernible vapor escaped from the Minion, one wisp passing through John with a strange warmth before vanishing into the amulet that Bobby cradled in his hands. The Minion slumped as Bobby fell silent and all became still. For a long moment, it seemed as though they were all frozen, no one talking, no one moving. But John had never been a patient man, and after a total day from hell, that wasn't about to change.

"Start talking," he demanded, his eyes dark and his body tight with anger. "Why were you after my children?"

"Why should I tell you anything?" it hissed, its voice holding a menacing promise of retaliation as it gazed back at John through its eerie black eyes.

"Because I can make the remainder of your stay in her body incredibly unpleasant," John bit out, tightening his fist around the holy water as he fought the temptation to douse the demon with all he had.

"Suppose I tell you what you want to know, and you let me leave here in this body," she offered with a suddenly friendly smile.

"Hell no—I don't make deals with hell-spawn, and I'm sure as hell not lettin' you leave here with Elaine's body." Slinging holy water in its face, John stepped to the edge of the trap, his dark stare meeting the Minion's eyes with utter resolve. "But I'm a reasonable man. You'll tell me what I want to know and I'll exorcise you quickly. Think about it. Now, last chance: tell me why you went after my children."

"I was only after the one," it told him with a coy smile, its voice lowering in a whisper of seduction as the Minion abruptly changed tactics. _Seduction over defiance—you should have done your homework, demon. I don't swing that way. _"Come now, Winchester," it continued, twirling a lock of red hair around one finger, "You have four. Surely you wouldn't begrudge me just one of them," it said, the words flowing from its mouth in a honey-thick drawl that seemed to hang in the air as it stared back at John with a promising gaze.

_What part of "I don't make deals with hell-spawn" didn't you understand? But, alright, if you're stupid enough to play that game, I'll go along. Just until I exorcise your demon ass. _

"Which one did you want?" John asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall, his posture at once relaxed and casual as he gazed back at the Minion with a speculative gaze.

"The special one," the Minion replied, sitting up on its knees with a hungry, eager look in its eyes as it sought to negotiate an arrangement. "You barely know him…you wouldn't miss him if you gave him to me."

"What's so special about him?"

"You don't know?"

"Would I be askin' _you_ if I did?" John countered, his gaze narrowing.

"No, I suppose not. I don't think I'll tell you, though—it would spoil the surprise. But I'll give you a hint," it said with a devious smile.

"Alright. Tell me the hint, then."

"He's my _soul_ purpose for coming."

"That's it? That's the hint?"

"Yes. Quite clever if I do say so myself."

"Hell, you're a damn soul-stealer. That's hardly a hint—that doesn't tell me shit."

"Well, I can't give you _all_ of the answers—what would be the fun in that?"

"John," Bobby cut in, "I don't think you're gonna learn anything useful—you know as well as I do that demons lie. Even if it did talk, you wouldn't be able to trust anything it says."

"Stay out of this, hunter," the Minion snarled, sensing that its chances of escape were slipping away.

"Yeah, you're right," John said with a sigh, straightening as he opened his journal and began the exorcism that would send the Minion back where it came from. "_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii…_"

"NO!" the Minion yelled, even as Elaine's body began to jerk, her back arching as the Minion threw its head back, a wordless scream filling the air as the Latin flowed smoothly from John's lips. "It won't matter, Winchester!" it snarled, its dark, twisted visage narrowing on him menacingly. "You can send me back to Hell, but you can't change the facts—your boy can't escape all of us, and some day, one of us will take him!" Its words ended on a guttural scream as a dark cloud erupted from Elaine's lips, spilling across the ceiling before seeming to vanish before their eyes. Elaine's body dropped heavily to the floor, soulless and now lifeless.

And even though John had never loved her, his heart ached just the same.

_She wasn't Mary, but she still meant something. And even though I didn't love her, she's the mother of two of my children—that means something. _

"John, we weren't exactly quiet about this," Bobby said, rubbing his neck wearily as he glanced over at John.

"Yeah, we gotta move," he said curtly. Grabbing a sheet from the bed, John knelt, covering Elaine as best he could before lifting her body into his arms, and heading for the door. "Bobby, we'll need to put her in the back of your truck—your truck bed's a lot lower than mine. I don't wanna risk someone seeing us try to manhandle a body up into mine."

"Right," Bobby said, grimacing a little before grabbing his keys and stepping around John to open the door. He cast a quick look around for anyone who might be lurking outside before leading the way to 

his truck and dropping the tailgate, quickly stepping back to allow John to lay Elaine's body down. With another glance around, John hopped up into the truck bed and carefully slid the body towards the cab before draping a dusty tarp over it with a slight grimace.

"That'll have to do for now. I'm gonna go grab the rest of our shit. Listen, go ahead and catch up with the boys…and um…Aubrey. Dean'll follow standard procedure and head for the border before he stops—North Carolina's closer, so he'll go there. Get on 95 and drive north until you reach Lumberton—they'll be at the first motel in the phone book. I'll meet you there."

"You sure you don't want any help?"

"Nah, I got this. Go on."

John made quick work of throwing the last of their things into the remaining duffels and slinging them into his truck. There was nothing he could do about the shape of the room or the devil's trap on the floor. _Or the one on the door that I see Braden didn't bother to remove like I told him to._ It was a minor, inconsequential thing, John knew, but somehow it was easier than thinking about all of the heavy shit that he was facing when he met back up with his children.

_Dammit, what am I supposed to say? How am I supposed to make this better? They listened to their mother screaming—it wasn't really her, but Aubrey, at least, didn't know that._ And John knew that Aubrey had harbored the idea that he would save Elaine, that she'd come back alive. _Braden realized from the start that his mom wasn't coming back, but knowing it and seeing it are two very different things…and for all of his strangeness, he's still only an eight-year-old. God, this was hard enough when I had to explain it to Dean when he was four, but now I have to explain it to two eight-year-olds who have a better grasp of reality. How do I make this okay?_

The answer, of course, was that he couldn't.

* * *

Approximately an hour and a half later, John pulled to a stop at a pay phone at a gas station in Lumberton, North Carolina, exhaustion dragging at him as he grabbed the phone book and began to search the pages for the first motel he came to. _Got it. _Slamming the book shut, John crawled back into the cab of his truck before grabbing for one of the many maps that he had tucked with military precision in his glove compartment. It only took a few minutes to locate the motel before he was pulling out of the gas station again, his heart growing heavier with every mile.

Pulling his truck to a stop beside the Impala and Bobby's '69 Ford, he slowly climbed out of the cab.

_God, I don't wanna do this. How can I face them, knowing that I screwed up? Dean looked like hell, and the twins…dammit. This whole deal went to hell in a handbasket, and I've got no one to blame but myself. Unless I blame Bobby and his fucking witch,_ he thought with a slight smile.

The door to Room 19 was suddenly flung open, and Braden flew out the door, throwing himself at John with complete abandon, and John had just enough time to drop his bag and kneel, catching him as the little boy buried his face in John's shoulder.

Bobby appeared at the door a second later, a pistol raised in his hand before he lowered it when he saw John standing there.

"Kid's fast," Bobby muttered, tucking the gun away and walking forward as John stood, Braden in his arms. _Shit. If Braden's this clingy, I can only imagine what I'm gonna be facing with Aubrey._

"John…"

"What?" John asked, almost dreading the answer.

"I think you need to talk to 'em, explain what the hell happened. That gal of yours…she hasn't let go of Sam since we got here…hell, maybe not since they left. And Sam—he's reeling from this, doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to do. And it's pretty damn obvious that Dean's beatin' himself up—kid's got a complex, John, always thinks it's his fault when shit happens. I mean, damn, John—Dean's the one who went head-to-head with that Minion, and Aubrey saw it all. No doubt she's blamin' him as much as he's blamin' himself. You need to talk to 'em."

"Don't you think I fucking know that?!" John exploded, frustration and weariness quickly overcoming the fragile hold he had on his temper.

"Easy, John," Bobby exclaimed, backing up with his hands raised submissively. "I didn't mean nothin' by it—I was just fillin' ya' in on the situation you've got brewin' inside. Damn, you're prickly."

"Sorry," John growled, dragging a hand down his face before heaving a sigh. "Look, get on the horn, call that witch of yours and find out what the hell went wrong with that fucking spell," he told the other man, his hand absentmindedly rubbing circles on Braden's back.

"I think we should free the souls from the amulet first—don't you?"

"Dammit, Bobby, my kids could have been killed because of her spell going wrong!"

"Look, that spell has been used before, and it's worked—it had to have been something on our end, not the spell."

"We did everything the way we were supposed to—what could possibly have gone wrong on our end?"

"Shit," Bobby murmured suddenly, his eyes widening. "The blood, John. The blood was the only thing subjective in the use of that spell. If the Minion was telling the truth, that boy of yours is…special somehow. His blood may reflect that, and if that's the case, it could have caused the spell to…well, backfire."

"That's bullshit," John said, unwilling to even consider it. _No kid of mine is anything but normal. No fucking way._

"But, John, think about it—the Minion should have been drawn to the source of the spell, to us. But we used Braden's blood for that spell, and the Minion was drawn straight to him instead. Lie to yourself all you want, but facts are facts."

"Daddy?" Braden whispered, his breath warm on John's neck.

"What is it, son?" John asked, never taking his eyes off Bobby.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For messin' up your spell," he mumbled, sniffling as he fought back tears. "I didn't mean to."

_Dammit, Bobby! The kid just helped destroy what was left of his mother, and now you wanna guilt-trip him into taking the blame for everything going wrong? _

"Listen to me, Braden," John began, casting a dark look at Bobby as he smoothed a hand over Braden's soft brown hair. "Bobby's just talkin' out of his ass. _This _was not your fault. Thiswas _my_ fault—for going along with his stupid-ass plan. So don't worry about it anymore, understand?"

"Yessir," Braden murmured, his body slowly relaxing in John's hold, and John had a feeling that the little boy was only a hop, skip, and a jump away from being asleep.

"Why don't you go back inside now, go on to bed? I'll be in there soon," he said, kneeling down and placing Braden on his feet, his son reluctantly releasing his hold on his father. "Tell Dean that I have something to take care of, but I'll be in soon."

With a tired nod, Braden slowly trudged back inside, carefully closing the door behind him.

"You got your keys on you?" John asked, choosing to ignore the anger pulsing through him for the sake of more practical matters.

"Uh, yeah."

"Good. Give 'em to me," he said, holding his hand out for the keys. Bobby slid his hand into his pocket, pulling them out and dropping them into John's waiting hand with a questioning look. "I need to take care of the body tonight," John

"We need to free those souls, John."

"The body first. The souls will keep—they're safe where they are for now, but I for damn sure don't wanna deal with another fucking demonic squatter trying its hand at calling Elaine's body 'home sweet home'. I need to salt and burn the body, and I need to do it now."

"You want me to come with ya'?"

"Nah, go on and hit the sack—I'll take care of it." _This is something I need to do on my own._

* * *

It was almost four in the morning when John returned. The window of Bobby's room was now dark behind the shabby curtain as John quietly walked past it to the door that contained his battered and bruised kids. He sighed, rubbing at red-rimmed eyes that burned from the smoke fumes and a sadness that John had been unable to completely hold back as he'd thought of another life ruined as surely as Mary's had been, another normal, apple pie existence that had gone up in flames. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he unlocked the door to his own room, nudging the door open with the toe of his boot. The now well ingrained habits of a lifetime of hunting made John pause before he went in, stepping to the side and allowing the door frame to shield him as he first swept his gaze around the room, searching for any sign of a threat as well as the reassurance that the proper safeguards had been put in place.

_Salt lines laid, windows secured, path to the door, at least, clear, _he thought, with a nod of approval. _Good job, boys._ The small bedside lamp glowed softly, cutting through the darkness of the room and revealing the mess inside. Supplies from the first-aid kit were strewn far and wide, and John was shifting a discerning gaze to his children when Dean stirred, moving stiffly even as he reached for the shotgun by the bed.

"It's me," John told him softly, stepping further in as Dean's hand fell away from the gun, dropping back down to rest by his side.

Making his way over to the battered seventeen-year-old, John could hardly say he was surprised to see the twins nestled in between Sam and Dean, Aubrey maintaining what looked like a death grip on her pink stuffed elephant with one hand and Sam's t-shirt with the other as the thirteen-year-old curled protectively around her. Braden's pose mirrored hers, his back to his sister's as he huddled against Dean's side. Sidestepping the clothes and duffels laying in the floor, John reached the bed, settling onto the mattress by Dean's hip, his sharp gaze settling on the oldest boy with a sigh.

"You alright?" he asked softly, eyeing the now-melted ice-pack that Dean had laid across his face, right under the butterfly strips laid in a neat line across his temple.

"Yes sir," Dean whispered, his eyes still closed as his voice emerged in a harsh, painful croak.

"Sam get you all patched up, or do you need me to finish?"

"Sam took care of it," Dean replied hoarsely, and in the light, John couldn't fail to see the dark bruising on Dean's throat.

"Shit, Dean—do I need to take you to the ER?" he asked worriedly, eyeing the bruising that he could now see covering large portions of Dean's body. Another melted ice-pack rested across one side of his rib cage, the previously uninjured side.

"Nah, 's not bad."

"You look like shit, son."

"I _feel_ like shit. But I've had worse. I'll be fine."

"How are the others?" John asked, looking past Dean at Sam and the twins, the three of them so covered by the sheet and comforter that it was hard to get a read on their physical conditions.

"Bobby took care of Bray's hands…Sam and Aub weren't hurt."

"What's wrong with Bray's hands?" _Shit, I didn't even notice. What the hell's the matter with me?_

"He cut them on the window—it got broken when the Minion came in."

_That's right—he snuck out of the bathroom window, he said. And just as easily got back in through it, too. He didn't mention it was broken, though. Too bad he didn't know how to get in and out through it without slicing his hands up._

"Ah. How'd Sam and Aubrey manage to escape without a scratch?"

"Hid under the bed."

"Sam didn't help you?"

"He couldn't, Dad. He had to hold Aubrey back—she'd have run straight for it. You should have…"

"What?"

"Nothin'. Nevermind."

But he didn't really have to elaborate, because John knew what the boy wasn't saying. _You should have talked to her. _

"How's she doin'?"

"I don't know, Dad," Dean said with a heavy sigh, glancing over at the little girl glued to Sam's side with a stricken expression. "I…I think…things just got a lot worse."

"What do you mean?"

"She watched me shoot her mom. And, well…you, me, and Sam—hell, even Braden—we all know that that thing wasn't really Elaine. But Aubrey didn't know that. Aubrey just saw her mom, not that demonic sonofabitch. And well…she watched me shoot it. And she watched us beat the hell outta each other. And well…we got the Minion locked in the bathroom, but…it kept calling Aubrey, asking her to come let it out. And when we wouldn't let her, it screamed at her for awhile, told her she was bad and that she shouldn't have let me hurt it. It fucking messed with her head, Dad. How's she ever gonna trust me now?"

_Fuck. He's right. We just can't ever get a break. _The weariness that had seemed to weigh on him so heavily when the twins had first come to live with them, that had seemed to lessen in the last week, was suddenly pressing down on him even worse than before, and it was all John could do not to bury his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry, Dad—I screwed up. I shoulda double-checked the salt-lines. I shoulda—"

"Wait a minute—what are you talking about? What was wrong with the salt-lines?" John asked with a frown, having a feeling that he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Nothin'," Dean said hastily, desperately trying to backtrack, but John wasn't any more likely to let him get away with it than Sam.

"Dean."

"Sam just didn't get a chance to line the bathroom window," Dean murmured.

"Dammit, Dean!" John hissed angrily. "Why the hell didn't he do that? He knows better than that!"

"The twins hadn't showered yet—the humidity in the bathroom would've ruined the lines," Dean argued, frantically trying to defend his brother. "He didn't forget, Dad—he was just waitin' for them…don't be mad at him, Dad, please," Dean told him, not above begging if John would let the matter go.

"Dean, he's gotta learn—"

"I'll take care of it, Dad, I swear! Please!"

Staring down into Dean's bruised and battered face, his green eyes red-rimmed and pain-filled, John knew he'd let Dean win this round. _Guess they've been through enough shit tonight—at least Sam kept Aubrey safe. That's worth a lot. _

"Alright, Dean. Just talk to him, would ya?" he said, knowing well enough that Dean would likely do a helluva better job of talking to Sam than he would anyway.

"'Yes sir. 'Sides, it was my fault—I shoulda realized something was wrong sooner—gotten them outta there."

"Dean, none of this was your fault. Hell, if I was honest, it's not Sam's fault, either," he admitted quietly. "It's easy for me to get pissed at your brother for not laying out the salt-lines—and yes, I _am_ pissed about that—but the truth of the matter is, _I_ put all of you at risk by bringing you here. I knew damn well that this thing was after the twins, but I brought you all anyway, when what I should have done was left all four of you with Jim. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is…" John paused, staring down at the floor while he gathered his thoughts before meeting Dean's gaze solemnly. "…I'm sorry, son. I'm sorry I put you in the position of having to deal with the fall-out of what happened, sorry that you had to face that 

thing down, knowing that it was going to hurt them to see it. I'm sorry," he murmured, a grim look on his face as he stared down at the battered seventeen-year-old.

"Wasn't your fault," Dean whispered back, shrugging painfully as he looked up into his father's face. "You didn't know it would come here."

"Hell, I know _that_. But I let Bobby talk me into trusting that damn witch, and all it got us was one mistake after another."

"What went wrong?"

"The spell, we think. Bobby thinks your brother's blood did something to the spell, made it work the wrong way."

"What do _you_ think?"

"I don't know _what_ to think." He frowned, not really wanting to consider the ramifications if Bobby's theory turned out to be correct. "Look, there's really no way to know now. Don't worry about it," John told him with a confidence he didn't feel. "Look, it's early still—it's been a rough night for all of us, and you need some sleep. I'll go get you some more ice for your ribs. When's the last time you took anything for the pain?"

"Took three Tylenol a coupla hours ago."

"It's too soon for you to take anything else right now, so the ice will have to do for the moment. But after that shit wears off, I want you to take one of the pain pills the doc gave you for your knee."

"'kay," Dean said with a tired sigh, and John knew from the lack of argument that his boy was hurting.

"That knee alright, or do I need to take a look at it?"

"It's fine."

"You're not shittin' me, are you?" John asked, the hint of a smile on his face as he looked down at his son. Dean grinned back at him, chuckling before shaking his head.

"No sir. It gave out on me for a sec, but no damage done."

"You sure?"

"Yes sir."

"Alright, then. I'll be right back with some ice."

He stood and navigated his way through the discarded pillows, blankets, and other shit to grab a large size empty Ziploc from the first-aid kit laying open on the dresser. Grabbing the baggie, he left to go find an ice-machine, scanning the empty walkway before stepping out and pulling the door firmly shut behind him.

He returned a few minutes later, lifting the now wet hand-towel on Dean's torso to replace it with a dry one, wincing when he saw the angry, purple bruises across Dean's ribs and lower chest.

"Sorry," Dean murmured as John laid a new hand-towel gently across the worst of the bruises and set the ice on top.

"For what?"

"I let it get too close. Dropped the gun. It beat the shit outta me."

"Dean, it was demon. You got nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, you were protecting your family, and I couldn't ask for anything more than that. You did your job, and I don't wanna hear another word about it. I better not catch you blaming yourself for any of this again, understand?"

"Yes sir." John sat beside his son again, pushing Dean's hair off his forehead with a gentle hand as Dean fought to settle back to sleep, no easy feat, John knew, with ice on his chest and pain shooting through most of his body.

"Do you need me to put the twins in my bed, or are you and Sam okay?"

"Bed's huge, so we're good. 'sides, you wouldn't be able to pry Aub away from Sam anyway."

"Alright, well get some sleep."

"Mhmm…Dad?" Dean asked drowsily, his eyes closing even as he voiced the question.

"Yeah?"

"D'you get all our stuff?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

_Where's he going with this?_

"Couldn't you have left the damn hamster behind?" Dean grumbled, and John couldn't keep a chuckle from escaping.

"You and that damn hamster are gonna be the death of me," he told him, shaking his head ruefully. "But your sister is pretty attached to it, so it looks like you're gonna have to suck it up and deal with it."

"Don't like rodents, Dad," Dean mumbled, dragging his pillow over his head sleepily before at last settling a heavy sigh.

"Yeah, I know you don't," John whispered softly, smiling, well aware that Dean's dislike for Boo centered around his issues with all things rat-like, issues that he'd had since he was twelve and he'd gotten trapped in a rat-infested cellar for several hours before John had been able to get to him. "Good night, son," he said, climbing wearily to his feet. Shedding his boots and pants, John dropped into the other queen-sized bed, his eyes falling closed immediately.

_This has been the day from Hell. Tomorrow will be better—it's gotta be. Right?_

* * *

John couldn't say how long he'd been asleep when bloodcurdling screams brought him out of a sound sleep, his hand reaching for the gun that he'd dropped on the bedside table. The boys shot up just as quickly, closer to the source of the screams. Aubrey was screaming, clawing at Sam as though she was trying to burrow inside him, desperate to escape the clutches of a nightmare that wouldn't be left behind.

"Aubrey, wake up!" Sam was yelling, frantically trying to calm her and Dean reached out to help only to jerk back when Aubrey jerked away from him screaming "NO!"

"Aubby, Aubby, it's okay! We're with Daddy and Sam and—"

"Mama! Where's Mama?!"

Dropping the gun back to the table, John hurried out of bed, the sick feeling in his stomach back as he witnessed the fall-out from his way of life, a way of life that he'd brought on his children.

_My fault, my fault, all of it, my fault. God, how do I fix this?_

"Aubrey, shhh, it's alright," he murmured as he pried her away from Sam and lifted her into his arms. But they all knew it wasn't. Her screams subsided into sobs as she clung to John, her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs wrapped around his torso as he held her to him, cradling her against his chest, rocking her back and forth in a desperate attempt to calm her. Sitting back down on his bed, with Aubrey in his lap, lying limply against his chest, John shuffled her over to make room for Braden to crawl up as well, for while the little boy wasn't quite as obvious about it as his sister, John knew well enough that he wanted the comfort only a parent could offer. _And unfortunately, I'm the only parent they've got. _

"Go back to sleep, boys," he told Dean and Sam, the former dutifully closing his eyes while the latter rolled over with a huff. Content with just a hug and a kiss to the top of his head, Braden slid off John's lap and slipped under the covers beside him with a quietly murmured 'good night, Daddy.'

_Wish it was that easy with Aubrey,_ John thought, holding Aubrey against him as she continued to cry. _But at least, Braden seems to understand what happened, which is a damn lot more than I can say for Aubrey. Shit. Maybe I should've gotten Braden to explain everything to her…maybe she'd listen to him. _

But deep down, John knew it wasn't fair to put that sort of burden on his youngest son, no matter how much he might want to. _Besides, she probably wouldn't listen to him any more than she's listening to me at this point…hell, he's probably already tried to tell her, and Dean and Sam have probably tried to. Aubrey hears what she wants to hear. _

He rubbed her back, whispering empty words of empty comfort, feeling the weight of Dean's gaze on him as surely as he felt the weight of Aubrey's tears pressing down on him. He was well aware that though they didn't say it, they desperately wanted him to fix things, to make things better.

_But I don't know how. _

So in true Winchester fashion, John decided to compartmentalize. Because maybe if he ignored it, it would all go away. Problem solved.

_Yeah, everything will be better in the morning._

* * *

But the next morning was anything but better, much to John's dismay. The light of day revealed the _true_ nature of things in the Winchester family, as Aubrey clung tightly to either Sam or John, allowing her twin brother to comfort her on occasion but making no secret of her avoidance of Dean. Sam was irritable—for no real reason that John could ascertain—and Braden was out-of-sorts, thrown by his sister's uncharacteristic silence and the return of Aubrey's distraught behavior, the little boy left uncertain how to act. Dean was proving to be the most stable, but even he was subdued. The tension in the room was substantial, leaving a painful stillness in its wake.

_Braden's no doubt playing still playing the same blame game from last night that his older brother Dean is—hell, the same one we all play. Silent guilt in this family is starting to become a fact of life. Hell, who am I kidding? It's _always_ been a fact of life in this family. _And the regretful expression on Dean's face was testament enough to that fact, John knew, as he glanced down at Aubrey slumped in his lap once more, quiet and unmoving.

_Damn. Why doesn't this shit ever go away on its own? Why did I honestly think I was gonna escape this without having to talk to her about it? Dean can only do so much for me, and in this case, there's really nothing he can do to make this shit go away…guess it's time I bite the bullet and be the parent here. Fuck. _

"Let's take a walk, baby," he said with a sigh, rising to his feet with the little girl in his arms. "Dean, we'll be back soon—we're not goin' far. As Dean nodded, John could see the question in his eyes, the silent request to come along, for as much as both of them hated 'chick-flick moments,' John could tell it was tearing his oldest apart that his sister was so upset with him, ripping at him enough that he was willing to endure a painful-as-hell girl moment if it meant he could fix things with her.

_Just give her some time, son. Stay here,_ John told him with his eyes, and Dean reluctantly acquiesced, nodding miserably before he stood carefully and moved towards the bathroom, his limp more noticeable as he shuffled inside and shut the door behind him.

_Probably need to give him a good look-over when I get back, make sure he's not hiding broken ribs or anything more serious._

Pausing by his duffel, John grabbed a handgun and tucked it into the small of his back, tugging the hem of his black tee over it before hitching Aubrey a little higher in his grasp and stepping outside, shutting the door behind them firmly.

As he stepped out into the stifling heat of the noonday sun, John groaned inwardly, wondering what the hell he was thinking. The temperature was hot enough already that carrying an eight-year-old for any length of time was going to be a real bitch. But he didn't even try to set her down to walk beside him, knowing well enough that she was hardly likely to let him go.

_Yeah, this was a real genius-idea. Why did I honestly think it would be easier to come outside and walk for a bit while I tried to figure out what the hell to say to her? No, instead, it's so damn hot out here that I already wanna say 'fuck this' and go back inside. Better just suck it up and get it the hell over with it, 'cause then, at least, we'll be able to go _inside_ and be miserable instead of stand in the damn heat and be miserable. _

"Aubrey…ahh…fuck." _Yeah, great start there, Johnny—quit being an emotional retard and talk to her already. _"Listen, your old man isn't so great when it comes to this kind of thing. I don't always say the right thing—hell, sometimes, I probably make it worse…but things bein' the way they are, I'm gonna give it a shot—do the best I can—because we need to talk about what happened yesterday…"

"Dean shot my mommy," she whispered, her breath soft and hot as she spoke against his throat.

_Shit. That's so not how I wanted to start this. _

"Baby, that wasn't your mom," John told her, his heart breaking a little at the pain in her voice, because he knew he was only going to cause her more. "I know it looked like her, but it wasn't her. What you saw was the Minion, and it would have killed you and your brothers."

"No, it was Mama," she told him tearfully, shaking her head emphatically. "I know it was, 'cause she knew my name and she wanted me to come with her. But Dean killed her," she sobbed, her arms tightening around his neck as she clung ever more tightly to him.

"Aubrey, it only looked like your mother. Hell, it may have even sounded like her. But it wasn't her. And you shouldn't hold what happened against your brother—he did what he had to do to keep you and your brothers safe."

"No! Dean hurt my mama, and now she'll never come back, and I hate him!" she cried, and John winced at the utter conviction in her voice, recognizing it for what it was. _God, why do my children have to be so _

_damn stubborn? I mean, is this like, karma or some shit? Are You paying me back for my own stubbornness by giving me children who are just as damn stubborn as I am? How am I supposed to fix this if she won't fucking listen to what I'm saying? _

"Sweetheart," he said softly, but she cut him off, shaking her head emphatically.

"Dean's not lookin' no more, Daddy! And I know Mama was bein' mean yesterday, but I bet she was just havin' a bad day! She'll be nice again, and since Dean's not lookin', you can go get her now!"

_Shit, I can't keep sugarcoating it for her—I'm not doing her any favor by drawing it out like this._

"Aubrey, your mama's not coming back," he told her firmly, hating himself for having to be so blunt, but knowing that it was for her own good. "I know it's hard to hear this, but…your mama was dead before that thing ever showed up yesterday. She's been dead since the day she disappeared."

"Nuh-uh! She wasn't dead, and she came back for me and Bray! But Dean hurt her and locked her away and made her mad and now she's gone and what if she never comes back for us again 'cause Dean hurt her?!" she asked, working herself up all over again, her voice getting higher and higher in pitch as she fretted over imagined consequences.

"Baby, you need to understand something," John said, stopping and setting her down in front of him, crouching down so that he was eye-to-eye with her. "Your mama's not gonna come back, not tomorrow or the next day, or the next day. Not ever." _I made sure of it._

"No, Daddy, don't say that! She could still come back!" she cried, complete certainty in her eyes, and John sighed, knowing well enough even after only a couple of weeks with her that Aubrey only heard what she wanted to hear.

"Aubrey, you can't go on waiting for her to come back, baby—she's gone!"

"No, she's not!" Aubrey yelled, hurling herself at him and wrapping her arms around his neck as she dissolved into something close to hysterics. Standing up once more, he started walking, ignoring the heat, ignoring the sweat trickling down his spine and the bone-deep weariness that dragged at him, ignoring everything as he tried to calm the little girl in his arms, a little girl who was struggling desperately to cope with things she never should have had to face.

_What the hell am I supposed to do, now?_

John couldn't say how long he circled that damn parking lot while the eight-year-old in his arms seemed to grow heavier and heavier as he tried his best to soothe her. His throat became dry and achy, most of his voice shot from his vain attempts to calm her, to convince her that everything was gonna be okay. And when she at last slipped into an exhausted sleep, there in the middle of that hot as hell parking lot, John finally admitted to himself that he needed help.

_Who can I—Jim? Forget it—poor bastard has spent enough quality time with me and mine to last a lifetime. No, I can't ask him for help on this. And Bobby's not exactly helpful when it comes to this shit—_

_yeah, 'cause he did such a bang-up job with Braden. He's better with dogs than with emotionally traumatized kids—definitely a last resort, John. Shit…who else? Caleb, maybe? No, he's a nutjob—don't think so. Joshua, then? No, guy's practically living in a fuckin' arsenal—that's just downright dangerous. Nevermind the fact that Joshua doesn't even like kids…so who does that leave? _

_Oh shit._

_Missouri._

_Damn._

* * *

A/N: Thank you, everyone who reviewed!! I got wonderful reviews for the last chapter, and it made me so happy!

**PRaCK**: I'm sorry for making you wait so long for this chapter. Had to wait for at least one of the betas to get back to me, and unfortunately, they have lives outside of fanfic—can you believe that people can live like that? LOL! Yeah, you're right—Aubrey does need a hug, doesn't she? Don't worry about Dean and Aubrey, though—things will get sorted out between them before long. I hope. I mean, that's what I have planned, but sometimes, things don't exactly go according to plan. You know how that is. Anyways, I'm glad you like Bray! I've been so tempted a few times to tell you his deal, but I always manage to stop myself—I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise, now, would I? LOL! Thanks for reviewing!

**lilgurlgreen**: To answer your question, Braden's 'episodes' will be explained in an upcoming chapter. You'll get a peek in Chapter 21 (I think), but most of it won't come out until later. The plot is gonna jump ahead to when the twins are about 14 or 15 before long, and that's when everything will be made clear. Or that's the plan anyway. Who knows? I sort of just let the story write itself for the most part, with no real idea of what's to come. Thanks for reviewing!

**zuimar**: I sort of did cram a lot of action into that last chapter, maybe to make up for the lack of plot-progression that has plagued previous chapters…and you know, I sort of worried about going for hurt-Dean so soon after the last bit, but I just couldn't resist. And his character sort of demanded it in this case—any encounter between the Minion and the Winchester kids HAD to have Dean staunchly defending the younger siblings, and he was just bound to get hurt. Or maybe I'm just rationalizing. Oh well shrugs. Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing!

**Hero Lilly**: So it's become my goal to keep creating a new favorite chapter for you—you'll have to let me know in the end which one wins your final vote! Thanks for reviewing for me—it means a lot!

**Tears of Trees**: Nice pen name—sounds really neat. I was so glad to learn that you're enjoying the fic—I knew when I first set out to do this one that I'd likely not get as many readers because of the extra-sibling fics. You're right—it can be tricky to find a good one that doesn't have the Mary Sue sister. I'm trying very hard to give each OC weaknesses that affect their personalities and behavior. Braden is proving more difficult because of what's going on with him--it'll be explained in an upcoming chapter—

but I'm still trying to bring out the 'normal little boy' moments in him. Glad to hear that you like Aubrey, though—I'm learning that readers either love her or hate her—haha! Anyways, thanks so much for the compliments and the wonderful review!

**michelexXx**: Yeah, poor Aubrey's having a rough time, isn't she? But don't worry—things will improve soon. I think. I mean, I can never really say for certain what's going to happen, because other than a general idea of where things need to go, I just sort of let the story write itself…that may or may not be a good thing…anyways, thanks for reviewing!!

**nightingale**: You know, the whole thing with Boo has just become so much fun for me. I try to work it in when I can. One of my best friends is really pushing for Dean to off the hamster in an upcoming chapter, but I'm not sure yet. I'm still thinking about it. So did the explanation of Dean's fear of rodents seem okay? I tried really hard to work it in, just for you, but I'm not sure how well I did it. To be honest, before you asked, I'd never really given it much thought. I sort of had to come up with something on the fly to make it work. Anyways, let me know what you thought! Thanks for the compliments on the fight scene, and you're in perfect agreement with one of my betas about it being time to move forward with the plot. Thanks so much for taking the time to review—I've really found your reviews to be helpful!

**mimishell**: Glad you liked the title for the last chapter! You know, it just occurred to me that you might not read this, you know, since as my beta, you've already read the chapter and it's unlikely you'll reread it…that's okay, I'll just tell you on the phone tomorrow to open it up and scroll down to this. I think I addressed everything you pointed out, and if you've got a minute, take a look at it—I tried to tweak John's reaction when he first busts up into the motel room. Anyways, let me just say that I am SO glad that you liked the 'twins as footstools' moment in the last chapter—it was such a minor detail, but I really liked it, and you have no idea how wonderfully happy it made me that you noticed it (and liked it)! I'm still considering your hope for Dean offing the hamster somehow…Anyways, thanks for reviewing for me, and thanks for taking the time to beta this chapter—I know it's not exactly easy to find time to do it, so I appreciate it all the more. Hopefully, my chapters are a nice break from the true suckiness of your job. Or maybe that's a bit arrogant on my part…or both. Anyways, thanks!


	21. Words Best Left Unheard

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Oh shmoo! Guys, I totally didn't realize it had been a freakin' month since I last updated! I could list the reasons why I was so slow, but I'm not sure that it would matter in the long run. Likely, you don't care—you'd just like me to shut-up and get on with it. But if you're interested…just kidding. On another note, please be aware that the language has sort of…well, let's just say that my characters have sadly grown more comfortable with profanity, so just be aware that there's going to be quite a bit of it. In case you haven't already noticed. Thanks, mimishell and CagedTroll for beta-ing for me! Anyways, sorry about the long wait, and here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter 21: Words Best Left Unheard

_Yeah, okay, _Sam thought as he gazed out the window, s_o Pastor Jim always says to look on the bright side of things…so if I do that, then I guess I should be glad that Aubrey decided to ride with Dad. I mean, that's good, right? 'Cause now she's not all in my space and shit… 'course, that's only 'cause she's messed up now, and she's still mad at Dean, and I'm ridin' with Dean, so she's leavin' me alone for now…so I guess that's not so good…_.

He was once again in his customary place in the front passenger seat of the Impala, and if it wasn't for Braden sprawled out in the backseat as they followed their father to Kansas, it would be just like any other road trip. Except that it wasn't.

_Yeah, looking on the bright side is totally a bunch of bullshit. _

Because it was pretty damn hard to forget how painfully awkward last night's drive to North Carolina had been. Aubrey had held onto him so tightly that Sam had started to worry that she'd never let go. He'd tried once to put her down, but she'd dug her fingernails into his arms and clung to him, screaming like a banshee. And Sam would know, because he'd heard one before, once, when he was ten.

"Dude, this fucking sucks out loud," Dean grumbled, abruptly breaking into Sam's train of thought, startling the thirteen-year-old with its suddenness.

"Yeah…turn the radio on," Sam replied, willing at this point to listen to his brother's shitty music if it would at least alleviate the silent boredom that had settled over the car an hour ago.

"Nah, that's not what I meant. I'm talkin' about this whole 'going to Missouri's because our sister is fucked up' thing."

"Oh, that."

"Yeah."

"Um…which part were you talking about, though—the 'going to Missouri's' part, or the 'our sister is messed up' part?"

"Both, dumbass."

"Oh. Jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam thought about throwing out another insult, but something—call it little brother intuition—made him pause, sensing that Dean was doing a rare thing: thinking out loud. And considering how rarely Dean gave his younger brother a glimpse at what he was thinking or feeling at any given time, Sam decided it was maybe best to simply shut the hell up and let Dean finish working through whatever was on his mind. Dean was silent for a bit, and Sam was beginning think he'd be wrong and that he should have gone ahead with the insult, when Dean suddenly shattered the silence.

"How long do you think she's gonna stay pissed at me?"

"I dunno…probably awhile though," Sam told him, shrugging apologetically as he turned to stare at his older brother. _I mean, if you think about how bad things were just this morning…yeah, that's probably not going away anytime soon._

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean said with a sigh.

"But maybe Missouri can help," Sam offered, well aware that any solution involving Missouri was likely to be met with scorn. Dean had always been somewhat less than friendly to the insightful woman, and his animosity towards her didn't seem to have lessened in the year and a half since they'd seen her last.

_Sorry, bro, it's all I got._

"And how in the hell do you and Dad figure that? Seriously, Sammy, I'm dying to know. Just how the _fuck _is she supposed to make things better? I mean, do you honestly think that she's gonna be able to do anything?"

"Well, why not? Maybe she can figure out what's goin' on in Aubrey's head."

"You mean because she's a chick?"

"Well, I guess that would work…but I was sorta thinking more because she's a _psychic_," Sam said, casting a cocky grin at Dean.

"Smart-ass," Dean said, reaching out to pop Sam lightly across the back of the head.

"Hey, I learned from the best," Sam said, smoothing his hair back into place.

"Damn straight," Dean said with a pale version of his usual smirk, ruffling Sam's hair before he subsided once more into silence.

_This is the part where Dean does that whole…what does Dad call it again? Oh yeah, 'brooding.' So yeah, Dean's gonna do the brooding thing, where he gets all quiet and starts thinking too much. Lucky for him he's got me to annoy the shit outta him until he forgets that he's trying to blame himself for everything._

But before he could say anything, Dean resumed his verbal line of reasoning, surprising the hell out of Sam, who was well aware that Dean wasn't exactly what one would call 'chatty' in the car, more content to listen to his music at deafening volumes than carry on anything resembling an in-depth conversation with someone.

"I don't even know why I give a damn," he said tightly. "I just don't get it. A few days ago, I didn't even fucking _like_ her. Either of them. But now, I dunno…it's bugging the hell out of me, Sammy. And I don't know why."

"It's 'cause you're our big brother," Braden spoke up softly from the backseat, the interruption surprising both of the older boys. "And you're a good brother, Dean. Aubby just doesn't understand, that's all," he said, leaning forward to rest his arms on the back of the front seat.

Sam glanced over at Dean, wondering what his older brother would do with that little tidbit, but Dean seemed to consider it for only a moment before he shook his head and leaned up to switch on the radio, things settling back to the moody silence of before with an unsurprising swiftness.

_He never believes it when someone other than Dad compliments him—and let's face it: how often does that happen? And why would now be any different?_

* * *

Sam had never been to Hell, but he imagined that it had to be a lot like the trip from Lumberton to Lawrence. Seventeen hours of Aubrey clinging to him or their dad, seventeen hours of Dean brooding while his crappy music blared painfully through the Impala's speakers, and seventeen hours broken up only by awkward-as-hell pit stops and food breaks had all added up to equal the worst road trip Sam could remember. And Sam could remember quite a few road trips that had sucked pretty bad.

_But this one was the worst ever,_ he thought as they passed a sign reading, "Welcome to Lawrence, Kansas."

"Who would want to live in this godforsaken town?" Braden asked suddenly from the backseat, his voice startling Sam as it broke the uncomfortable silence that had long ago overtaken the car. Shaking his head at the odd phrasing, Sam turned to look at the younger boy, surprised that he was not only awake but lucid.

"Dude, I thought you were asleep. When did you—"

"What would you know about it?" Dean interjected, cutting Sam off as he cast a sharp look at Braden in the rearview mirror.

"Dean, I was talking," Sam began with affront, but Dean turned a warning glare on him before he could say any more.

"Shut-up, Sam," Dean told him harshly, his gaze hot as he glanced back over his shoulder at Braden, and it was clear to Sam that Dean was in one of those moods where anything was liable to set him off. It was a mood that Sam had started growing increasingly familiar with in the past few weeks.

_Who the hell pissed in your cornflakes? Ass-hat._

"Answer the question, Braden," Dean went on, sounding to Sam an awful lot like their father. _Yeah, that's all I need—another one of Dad to bitch and order me around._

"What question is that?" Braden asked mildly, staring back unconcernedly from his place in the back.

"Lawrence—what the hell would you know about it?"

"Ah, well it _is_ a renowned hell-gate, after all."

_Dude, who talks like that? I mean, not even Pastor Jim uses words like 'renowned.'_

Dean was silent, his expression troubled, but Sam couldn't tell whether it was because of Braden's revelation or his old-man way with words. Before Sam could comment, however, Braden went on, seeming to be thinking out loud more than talking to the boys.

"That said," the little boy mused, "why anyone would want to put down roots within its borders is beyond me. Utterly foolish, if you ask me."

"We lived here for awhile, until our mom died," Sam told him, glancing over at Dean to see if he was angry. Any mention of their mother was usually enough to send Dean into a stormy silence characterized by a tightly locked jaw and the quivering tension of clenched muscles.

"You lived here?" Braden asked, tearing Sam's attention away from his older brother to see the younger boy looking back at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, 'cept I don't remember. Dean does, though," he offered softly.

"I'm sure that it would be putting it mildly to say they're not pleasant remembrances," Braden said softly, causing both Sam and Dean to cast strange glances back at the little boy.

"Yeah, he doesn't like to talk about it," Sam said slowly, still thrown by Braden's strange way with words. "Neither does Dad," he finished, glancing away from his younger brother's penetrating gaze.

"Well, are we stopping here, or is it merely a coincidence that we happen to be passing through?"

"Stopping here," Sam answered when Dean remained silent, and Sam cast a quick look at his older brother, frowning at the set of Dean's jaw that was certainly a bad sign.

"And why on God's green earth would we want to do that?"

"We don't," Dean told him bluntly.

"Dad thinks it'll help," Sam offered when Dean said nothing further.

"I don't understand."

"Dad thinks Missouri can help Aubrey," Sam continued with a shrug, since Dean wasn't being overly forthcoming with the answers.

"Missouri? Boy—are you daft? We're in Kansas, not Missouri, though I fail to see how our presence in _either_ state will help Aubrey."

_Dude, what—_

"No, not Missouri the state," Sam said exasperatedly, quickly growing frustrated at not being understood. "I'm talkin' about Missouri the _person_. She's a friend of Dad's. She's psychic. She lives here in Lawrence."

"Hmm, well that certainly explains a lot," Braden ruminated, nodding absently as he digested the information.

"What do you mean?"

"Hellgates are believed to be something of a wellspring of psychic, as well as demonic energy, so it's quite within reason to find a psychic close by. Myself, I think the tendency is more likely due to the sheer number of spirits that are drawn to the hellgate—the spirits themselves will oftentimes focus a psychic's power. That's a working theory, mind you—I can't say for certain."

"What?"

"Nevermind—it's a bit complicated," Braden replied, and Sam couldn't help but frown, annoyed by the idea that his little brother was speaking over his head.

"How the hell do you know all this shit?" Sam asked, turning to scowl at the younger boy.

"One learns quite a bit over the course of a lifetime" Braden told him with a strange gleam in his eye.

"Dude, you're eight," Dean pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

"Ah, yes, that's right," Braden replied with an enigmatic smile, dropping back to lay his head once again on the steadily growing pile of pillows that had found their way into the backseat, namely due to their one and only sister's fondness for motel pillows.

The eight-year-old shifted a bit as his eyes drifted closed, and within minutes, he lapsed back into sleep, looking as though he'd never moved in the first place.

"Our little brother's fucking weird," Dean said after a moment.

"Yeah…he sorta fits right in, doesn't he?" Sam replied with a mischievous grin.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Dean brought the car to a stop behind their father's truck at the curb in front of Missouri's house. Sam reached for the seatbelt release, ready to get the hell out of the car, and he was just about to throw open the door when he realized that Dean hadn't moved.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his hand dropping away from the door handle as he turned back to face Dean.

"I hate it here," Dean murmured, his gaze dropping to the steering wheel he had a death-grip on. "I hate this whole damn town, and I wish it would fucking burn to the ground," he bit out through clenched teeth, his eyes bright with a fervent hatred that almost scared Sam.

"Maybe we won't stay that long…I don't think Dad likes it much either," Sam murmured.

"What the hell is he thinking, anyway? Mom died in this town, and nobody but us seemed to fucking care. They just went on like nothing ever happened, living their stupid apple-pie, bullshit lives. Why would he think this is okay, that coming here was a good idea?"

A knock on the window brought an end to the conversation as they both looked over to see their father standing at the car door with a 'what the fuck' look on his face, obviously wondering why they were still sitting on their asses in the car.

With a sigh, Dean slowly pushed his door open, ignoring Sam as he eased himself out of the driver's seat, and hobbled towards the trunk. John wordlessly reached into the backseat and picked Braden up, even as Sam moved to join Dean at the trunk. Before he got very far, however, a sudden weight slammed into him from behind, almost knocking him to the ground.

_What the—_

Catching his balance, he suddenly knew without looking what had happened. _'Course, the little girl-arms around my waist sorta give it away,_ he thought, sighing as Aubrey gave no sign of letting go.

"C'mon, Aub, aren't you tired of that, yet?"

But obviously she wasn't as she refused to let go, burying her face in his spine as she clung to him. Twisting, he shifted, hefting her into his arms so that he could at least walk. He fell in line behind his dad, casting an apologetic look back at Dean who stared back at him with only a hint of hurt before the mask was back in place.

_Pretend all you like, dude, but I know the truth. And Missouri's gonna know the truth, too. _

Sam was pretty sure Dean knew that, too, knew that trying to hide anything from Missouri was just plain stupid. And he was pretty sure, too, that that's why Dean didn't like her much. He couldn't hide anything from her, and he hated it, hated that anybody could possibly see through the layer of macho bullshit he'd become so damn good at hiding behind.

"Dean, use the crutches," John called back over his shoulder as he headed for Missouri's front door with Braden in one arm, and a duffle in the other. Hitching Aubrey up higher in his arms as they stepped up onto the porch, Sam watched impatiently as John dropped the duffle and reached up to knock on the door, only for the door to swing up a split second before his fist reached it.

"John Winchester," Missouri said, beaming up at him as she reached forward to hug him, "It's been too long. How are y—" She paused in mid-sentence, her face dropping as her gaze shot from John over to Aubrey and then Dean before landing once more on John. "Johnny, what have you been doing to your children? They're fallin' apart."

"Hell, Missouri, I'm not far behind 'em," John replied with a regretful shrug. "I was sort of hopin' you could help," he mumbled, and Sam was torn between enjoying the sight of his father having to humble himself to ask for help and pitying him for the weariness in his voice.

"Well don't just stand there—come in," she scolded mildly, swinging the door open wider and stepping aside so they could come in. Sam glanced back once to make sure Dean was behind him before stepping into the cool air-conditioned interior of Missouri's house.

_I don't care what Dean says—I love it here._

Missouri's house had a cozy feel, despite all the weird New Age-y stuff littering every room. The doorway beads were Sam's favorite, the way they scattered around him, only to gently drop back into place with a soft jangle as though they'd never been disturbed. He'd tried to get his father to buy some once, but that had been a no-go.

_Too bad—that shit's cool._

"Dean, you go on in and sit down, put that knee of yours up—and don't you argue with me!" she warned with a pointed finger when the seventeen-year-old opened his mouth to do, Sam knew, just that. "I know it hurts, and nothing you say is gonna convince me otherwise. Go on now," she told him, and with a disgusted sigh, Dean turned towards the den, shaking his head angrily. "And don't you sass me, boy!"

"So don't eavesdrop, then," Dean all but growled, earning himself a swift swat to the back of the head from John.

"I may not have taught you all that I should have about social niceties, but I _know_ I taught you better than that. I won't have you being disrespectful, especially when you're a guest in someone's home. Now you cut that shit out, and you do it fast," John told him with the classic Winchester glare. "Am I making myself clear?"

"Yessir," the seventeen-year-old mumbled, his eyes fastened on the floor as he tried to slip past them into the den.

"Dean," John said, bringing Dean to an abrupt halt, and Sam could see Dean's body tense as he waited for what he knew was coming. "Apologize to Missouri, and then you do what she said."

"Sorry," Dean forced out, knowing better than to move until the apology had been acknowledged and accepted. Sam knew that lesson firsthand, as their father had never tolerated otherwise.

"That's alright," Missouri said graciously, which was a bit odd for her, Sam thought, because she didn't usually make it any easier for Dean than he did for her. "I know you don't feel well. You go on now, and rest for a bit before dinner."

Wordlessly, Dean turned his back and left the room, and with a shake of his head, John followed him out, mumbling something about laying Braden down in the guest room. Missouri turned to face Sam and Aubrey. She started to say something to Sam, but paused when her gaze fell on Aubrey.

"Oh, honey. Your brother didn't kill your mama. And she wouldn't want you to hate him for watching out for you," she said gently. And as though that was all the encouragement she needed, Aubrey dropped out of Sam's arms and threw herself at Missouri, sobbing pitifully into the older woman's shirtfront as Sam stood there helplessly.

_Oh shit, now what do I do? Awkward. _

Painful minutes ticked by as though time had slowed, leaving Sam rocking back and forth on his heels wondering how the hell he could get out of the room without being too obvious about it.

"Sam, I need help unloading—let's go."

At the sound of his father's voice, Sam turned, relieved for once to see his father standing behind him. John turned around, beating a hasty retreat out of the house, and Sam followed right on his heels.

"Thanks, Dad," Sam told him. "All that crying was startin' to get to me."

"Worried you were gonna start channeling your 'inner girl'?" John asked with a smirk, ruffling Sam's hair as they neared the car.

"Nah—worried I was gonna have to do the manly thing and be a shoulder for one of 'em to cry on. That shit's embarrassing, Dad!"

"Yeah, well just remember that if you ever do give into that urge, they'll love you for it—women eat that sensitive shit right up. That's somethin' your big brother figured out a long time ago, and for all his talk about hating 'chick-flick moments,' he knows how to use them to his advantage. So learn from it—you can garner a lot of favor by playing the sensitive card."

"Sweet," Sam reflected, envisioning the potential he had for scoring points with future girlfriends. _But then again, if they're anything like Aubrey, do I even want a girlfriend? I mean, sure, they're cute and all, but girls are freakin' nuts… _

"Alright, take Boo in first—and don't put him anywhere near your brother. I have a feeling Dean's just biding his time until he finds a way around me so that he can still kill the damn thing."

_I guess I shouldn't tell you about his latest idea to build a hamster-sized trebuchet as soon as you quit watchin' him,_ Sam thought, hiding a grin as he picked the cage up and headed inside. He'd snuck a peek at Dean's "Ways to Kill a Hamster" list when his brother had turned his back for a minute. While said action had earned him a mild punch to the shoulder blade, Dean had let him in on his plans. So even though Sam had nothing against Boo, he valued his brother's confidence too much to enlighten his father as to Dean's intentions.

_Sorry, Dad. Brothers trump fathers when it comes to…well…everything._

* * *

Within an hour, the Impala and the truck were unloaded, and Missouri had somehow managed to simultaneously calm Aubrey down _and_ get dinner ready, all without any visible effort. Sam set the table, rolling his eyes as Aubrey moved everything almost the second he set it down. _Great, another perfectionist—she gets that from Dad. _The last of the plates placed carefully on the table amid Missouri's warnings to be careful with her china, Sam slid into a seat right as John came back from the guest bedroom with Braden in tow. Dean followed behind, his hair tousled and sticking straight up in places as a result of his nap, a nap he would totally deny taking, Sam knew, merely because he would consider napping before dinner a completely pansy thing to do.

_Wonder if he'd punch me if I called him a pansy right now…_

But the disgruntled expression on Dean's face as Braden took the seat next to Sam and left Dean to sit beside Missouri was more than enough to indicate that Dean would likely do more than just punch him if he started something. Wisely, he decided to keep his mouth shut, even if he couldn't quite hide the smirk on his face. He reached for the bowl of mashed potatoes, eager to eat food that hadn't been soaked in grease first.

"I don't want to this time, Daddy," Aubrey blurted out softly, casting a quick look at Dean before looking back at John. "You say it."

"Say what?" John asked, looking up from his plate, his fork poised over his food.

"The blessing."

"Oh. Sam, it's your turn," John said without blinking, not once hesitating as he gazed back at Sam with an almost imperceptible smirk.

"My turn?! What the hell, Dad?" Sam asked incredulously, staring back with undisguised affront at this latest turn of events. But as he watched the smirk disappear and his father's jaw tighten, Sam winced inwardly, knowing he was about to get his ass handed to him.

_Shit._

"Last I checked," John began, all joking aside, "we were guests in someone else's home, and you know better than to use that kind of language at the table."

_What a stupid ass rule—like we don't use that kind of language at Uncle Bobby's table. You say 'fuck' at Uncle Bobby's all the time. You even talk like that at Pastor Jim's house._

"C'mon, Dad—that's totally whack," he reasoned. "You say—"

"Quit arguing with me and say the blessing like I told you." Sam cast a quick glance at Dean, flashing his best puppy-dog eyes at him in hopes that his older brother would take pity on him and help him out. But a quick smirk told him that Dean was throwing his little brother to the dogs on this one.

_If you wanna be that way…_

"Well why can't Dean say it?" Sam asked, having no qualms about turning the tables on his older brother. "Why didja pick me? He— , I mean, heck, why do we hafta say it at all? We don't say it anywhere else," he pointed out, only barely holding back a smug smile as he decided he had his father beat.

"Because, Samuel," Missouri broke in, "it's important to your sister. Now, go ahead, boy, we're waiting," she told him, not unkindly but with the sort of tone that Sam knew meant business.

_But I don't know how,_ he thought with growing alarm, feeling his face heat with the flush of embarrassment. _What am I supposed to say?_

"You just go right ahead, baby, and say what comes to your heart," she told him as she and the twins reverently closed their eyes and bowed their heads, while Dean gazed back at Sam with a triumphant grin. Sensing movement under the table, Sam heard a slight thump and a scuffle before the older boy grudgingly closed his eyes, the kick from their father encouraging at least a pretense of reverence for the blessing.

Sam had no doubt that if their father hadn't been sitting there, he would have received a kick, too, courtesy of his older brother in return for attempting to put the blessing off on him. It wasn't as though Sam had anything against God—he didn't. In fact, he prayed quite often, just not out loud where his brother or father could hear him.

_Why'd he hafta pick me? I don't know anything about saying a blessing. I mean, throwing God a quick, silent 'keep Dean from getting his stupid self killed' is a lot different than saying the blessing out loud at the table. He shoulda made Dean do it—he at least learned it before Mom died. _

"Go on now, Sam," Missouri murmured as John's eyes closed obediently as well.

_Oh, man, how do I start? Shit—whoops, that's probably not it. Sorry, God…um…_

"Okay, um…God is…" Sam mumbled, trying desperately to recall the rhyming blessing the twins used, fighting the panic when his mind kept drawing a blank. "…um…great? Yeah. God is great, and…God is…cool? Uh…and let us thank him…for…our food…right... and uh…yeah…thanks. Amen?" he said questioningly, praying that that was all he was required to say as he opened his eyes and glanced hesitantly at his father. He could feel his face flush with embarrassment, just waiting for his dad to shake his head at Sam's pathetic attempt to say the blessing.

"That'll do just fine, son," John said softly and with a nod began to eat, everyone else following suit. And strangely, those five little words eased his shame, and with a smile, Sam picked up his fork and dug in.

"You know what, Ms. Missouri?" Aubrey asked hesitantly a few minutes into their meal, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to muster the courage to talk instead of cry.

"What's that, baby?"

"Me and Bray got a hamster, and his name's Boo. He's real cute, and we share him with Sam."

"But not with Dean?" Missouri asked, and Sam snorted as he imagined what would happen if the twins ever attempted to _share_ Boo with Dean. Aubrey cast a quick look at Dean before turning wide eyes to Missouri, shaking her head emphatically.

"We don't share Boo with him."

Missouri started to reply only to turn towards Dean with a stern glare as a calculating gleam came into Dean's eyes.

"Dean Winchester! You'll do no such thing!"

"Do what?" John asked, his eyes narrowing in that suspicious way that Sam was all too familiar with.

"The ideas that boy of yours comes up with…imagine dropping that poor little creature off a rooftop."

"I was gonna give it a parachute," Dean retorted. "Maybe," he added in a mumble, and John began to cough, his eyes widening in disbelief as he stared back at his oldest incredulously.

"Boy, you have lost your mind," Missouri told him, scolding him mildly before turning to face their father. "John, maybe you should limit the boy's caffeine intake."

"I already do," John replied, aiming a warning glare at Dean before rubbing his eyes wearily.

Sam shoveled in a bite of Missouri's mashed potatoes, enjoying the taste of 'real food,' only to frown when he heard a tell-tale sniffle.

_Oh no, not again._

"Aubrey, what's wrong?" John asked, and Sam could tell their dad was trying his hardest not to sound frustrated.

_And for Dad, that's saying a lot—usually, he doesn't give a rat's ass if he sounds frustrated or not._

"Dean's gonna kill Boo, just like he killed Mama," she said, dissolving into tears. Sam's gaze shot to Dean, catching only a glimpse of hurt in his eyes before he suddenly came to his feet, the chair falling to the floor behind him. Without a word, his face a mask of indifference, Dean turned to leave, his jaw tight with tension.

"Dean, sit down," John ordered, but for once, Dean ignored him, leaving the room without looking back, even as Missouri lifted Aubrey into her lap, cradling the little girl to her chest as she rocked her back and forth.

"He needs some time, John—just let him be for now."

Across the table, John dropped his fork on his plate, burying his head in his hands as he reached his wit's end. Braden stilled, carefully laying his fork down and staring over at his sister with a worried expression.

_Great. Dinner is freakin' awesome, and I can't even enjoy any of it because everybody else stopped eating, and I'll look like a jerk if I keep eating when no one else is. _

"Sam, you go ahead and eat, child—it's alright," Missouri said softly, and Sam started, taken by surprise for a moment.

_Dude, how'd she know? It's like she read my mi—oh, right. Duh. _

Shaking his head at his momentary stupidity, Sam gingerly picked up his fork and took a bite, eying his father, waiting to see if he'd say something. But John didn't, instead dropping his napkin on the table and moving as if to stand.

"John Winchester, I know you're not about to leave my table with all that food on your plate! You sit right back down, now, and you eat that food. A woman slaves away at the stove, the least you can do is eat what she fixes you."

"Missouri," John began, but she cut him off, something that very few people did and got away with—Sam knew from experience.

"Don't you 'Missouri' me—sit yourself down and eat. You keep up all that worryin' about these children, and you're gonna waste away. I got this baby, and she's gonna be just fine."

With a sigh, John sat back down, and as Missouri began to hum to the little girl nestled in her arms, Sam found himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, his dad had been right to bring them here.

_Maybe Missouri _can_ help._

* * *

Sam's eyes opened, staring confusedly up at the ceiling before suddenly recalling where he was. He wasn't really sure what had woken him, because after watching his older brother for a long minute, he knew it wasn't Dean that had woken him up. Dean's familiar presence was behind him, the older boy's head buried under the pillow they'd started placing in between them to divvy up the space. As they'd gotten older, space had become a growing issue, both of them needing space only to find that there wasn't much to spare. And when gentle nudges to move over had turned into jabbing elbows and painful kicks to the back, their father had intervened, shoving a pillow in between them and warning both of them to stay on their own side or suffer consequences. And while Dean tended to burrow under the pillow somewhat, the pillow at least stayed in place, so Sam let the infraction go.

He wasn't really sure what had caused him to wake up, but now that he awake, his bladder was demanding relief, and with an annoyed sigh, Sam pushed down the covers, knowing he wouldn't be able to wait until morning.

_I was comfortable, dammit._

Slowly, Sam eased out of bed, knowing that any slight movement could wake Dean despite the pain meds that their dad had made Dean take for his knee. Even though Dean acted like he was fine, Sam knew that a day in the car plus the ongoing 'therapy' had left his older brother hurting.

_Yeah, better not wake him up—he'd tear me a new one if I woke him up just 'cause I had to piss. Especially after he was so bitchy after dinner…_Not that Sam blamed him. _Being accused of killing your sister's mom probably doesn't do much for you._

Carefully, he navigated the living room, stepping over the clothes, abandoned weapons, and tossed candy wrappers that Dean had left all over the floor. As he headed for the bathroom, he could hear the quiet murmur of voices coming from the kitchen, and since Sam had never been one to pass up an opportunity to eavesdrop, he slowly made his way down the hall, avoiding the floorboards that creaked the most as he eased closer to the kitchen, where he could hear his father and Missouri talking.

He tiptoed as far as the kitchen door and froze in place, making a conscious effort to control his breathing so that he could hear better.

Yes, eavesdropping was an art that Sam had long ago become quite good at, and as he leaned slightly closer to the door, it didn't take him long to pick up on his dad and Missouri's conversation.

"By then," John was saying, "things were so fucked up that I just left Bobby to handle the amulet and the souls, just so we could get out of there. Dean's got a guilt complex a mile wide, so he thinks it's all his fault, Braden's as weird as ever, and Aubrey's devastated. I haven't even had the twins a month, and one of 'em is already screwed to hell."

"She's a little girl, John—you can't expect a child her age to accept what's happened without question."

"Why can't I? Braden seems to be accepting it just fine."

"Yes, well you did say there's something strange about him," she pointed out.

"About that…did you…sense anything weird about him?"

"It's strange…I can't get anything specific off him, but there's something there, something I can't quite put my finger on."

"Great," John said, and there was no mistaking the discouragement in his voice. "My youngest boy confuses the hell outta me, and my only girl is emotionally unstable."

"Shame on you, John Winchester," she scolded. "Grown men sometimes can't accept the things we see, so expecting one of your babies to is downright foolish."

"Well what the hell am I supposed to do, Missouri?" John asked her, his voice rising with frustration.

"You're supposed to love her, comfort her—be her father. And if you don't do something soon, you're gonna have a rift in your family that not even time will heal. Dean's hurting as much as that daughter of yours is, only he's much quieter about it. Guilt is gonna be his undoing if you don't take care of this now."

"I know," Sam heard his father say, and it wasn't hard to hear the weariness and the misery in his father' voice. "I just…Mary was always better at the emotional shit than I was…and you know, I always counted myself lucky that we had boys 'cause I knew I'd be a damn failure when it came to the emotional shit that comes along with having girls. Now I'm finding out that I was right."

"Don't sell yourself short, John. You love your children, even if you sometimes find it hard to say the words. They know you love them. You've just got to find a way to show Aubrey the same way you show your boys. She doesn't require words any more than the boys do."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Go on to bed now. You're tired."

"I'm fi—"

"Don't lie to me, John Winchester—we both know it won't work. Now you get yourself to bed right now."

_Oh shit_, Sam thought, scrambling away from the door and darting into the bathroom, praying that his father wouldn't have to take a piss before heading to bed. He could jump in the tub, but his dad was notoriously good at sensing another presence in any room he happened to be in.

Luckily, John went past, mounting the stairs as he headed up to the guest bedroom where the twins were already sleeping, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief, even as he heard Missouri stir from her chair.

"Sam, you come on outta there, now," he heard her say softly, and with a sigh, Sam slowly opened the bathroom door, a sheepish expression on his face.

"Eavesdropping is a bad habit, Samuel."

"Sorry, Missouri," he replied, simultaneously sincere and insincere. _Sorry I got caught. I mean, c'mon, how else am I gonna find out anything? It's not like Dad ever tells me anything._

"Your father tells you what he thinks you need to know," she told him, motioning for him to precede her into the kitchen. "He has a lot on his mind, child, and he does the best he can."

"He could tell me more, though—I'm not a baby, you know," Sam retorted as she sat back down at the kitchen table with a cup of steaming hot tea, vaguely aware that he sounded childishly petulant, but the acknowledgement wasn't enough to overcome his resentment.

"Oh, honey, he's your father—you'll always be his baby, just like that older brother of yours. That doesn't change no matter how old you get. And in his own way, your father tries his best to protect you from all the ugliness that's out there. There's more out there than you know, and if it means keeping secrets from you in order to keep you safe from all that darkness, then that's what he'll do."

"Now you sound like Pastor Jim," Sam grumbled.

"Jim Murphy is a smart man."

"Yeah, I guess," Sam muttered, and with a mumbled "goodnight," he left through the swinging door of the kitchen, about to head back to the living room only to pause at the bathroom door.

_Oh, right. _

Drowsily, he took care of business and crawled back into bed, somehow managing to peel the covers away from Dean, who had at some point in the ten minutes Sam had been gone, completely cocooned himself in Sam's half of the blanket.

_These blankets are even better than the ones at Pastor Jim's—they smell good, like…I dunno…good. What do they smell like?_ He tried to figure out exactly what it was that made Missouri's so special, but he lost himself to sleep somewhere in between sunshine and Downy fabric softener.

Sleep came quickly to him, and for a long while, Sam was adrift in a sea of dreams, unaware when his state of consciousness changed.

Distantly, he could hear the soft murmuring of voices, and as he lay there, oblivious, in that place between sleep and awake, he heard Missouri speaking softly.

"I wondered when you were going to make yourself known," he heard her say, and vaguely, Sam wondered who she was talking to.

"I prefer to bide my time—it's best not to get o'er hasty."

_Braden?_

"Why are you here?"

"I have a job to do, and I take that job very seriously."

_It's Braden…but it's not Braden...how can it be him and not him at the same time? _Sam wondered confusedly.

"What job could you possibly have that you need to use that baby for your own purposes?"

"The matter doesn't concern you. Suffice it to say that I do what I must. I follow orders—you don't have to like it."

"If you mean that boy or his family any harm—"

"I'm not evil," Sam heard not-Braden say indifferently.

"Well you would hardly admit it if you were," Missouri retorted in that familiar way she had about her, the mildly delivered but biting sarcasm that she so often employed.

"True."

"John Winchester isn't a man you want to cross, and you certainly don't want to threaten his babies—he won't abide it."

"Be that as it may, you should keep in mind that telling him would not be wise. Consider as well, madam, that you have no proof to offer him. I come and go as I please—there's no conjuring one such as me."

_What's he talkin' about?_ Sam wondered indistinctly, feeling himself slowly drifting closer to wakefulness.

"I don't want you in my house."

"My dear woman, how do you propose to stop me?"

Sam stirred, then, a growing unease forcing him those final steps toward wakefulness.

"Missouri?" he called out, his heart pounding in alarm as he tried to figure out whether what he'd heard was real or imagined.

A moment later, Missouri appeared in the doorway of the living room, even as Dean groaned, shifting restlessly.

"S'mmy?" he asked groggily, the pain meds in his system leaving him less than lucid as he struggled to wake up enough to find out what was wrong with his little brother.

But Sam didn't reply as he stared up at Missouri worriedly, his mind churning with alarm, about what, he couldn't say.

"Missouri?" he said again, not even certain what he was trying to ask as he gazed back at her with worried eyes.

"Everything's alright, Sam—go on back to sleep now."

"Wha's wrong?" Dean asked, his eyes unfocused as he lifted his head from under the pillow to gaze at Sam blearily.

"Nothin' to worry about," Missouri answered smoothly, "Sam was just dreaming—isn't that right, child?" she asked, looking at Sam with a look in her eyes that Sam couldn't quite figure out.

"Yeah, musta been," Sam murmured. _But it seemed real…_

"Don't you worry none, Sam—you go on back to sleep now, the both of you."

Just then, Braden walked up behind Missouri with a bewildered expression.

"How come I'm in here?" he asked, gazing up at her with confusion.

"You were sleepwalkin', baby—c'mon, let me take you back to bed, now," she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder as she turned to lead the little boy out. "Night, boys," she called back over her shoulder.

With a grunt, Dean pulled the pillow back over his head and was asleep again before Sam had even laid back down. Pulling the sheet up to his shoulders, Sam rolled over, blinking sleepily before closing his eyes.

_Guess it _was_ just a dream…had to be…_

* * *

A/N: I hope I found all of the mistakes--if not, oh well. My excuse is that it's late, and I didn't want to make you all wait any longer for this chapter. Thanks everyone for your reviews!! Hope you'll all be so kind as to continue to review for me, despite the fact that I'm completely sucktastic at getting speedy updates out. Love you, guys, anyway!

**michelexXx**: Yeah, Aubrey sort of ends up going through as much emotional angst as big brother Dean, doesn't she? Things will be getting better for her shortly, though, so don't worry! Thanks for reviewing!

**Poppyflake**: Acceptance of their situation is coming soon for Aubrey. I'm hoping to wrap that part up a bit in the next chapter, and then I plan to move us ahead a number of years. Expect to see John taking care of the issues in the family in the next chapter.

**Bunty**: I must have really put Aubrey through the wringer in the last chapter, because you're the third person to basically say "poor Aubrey"—lol! I mean, I knew I was giving her a lot of angst, but I didn't realize how much it stood out. As for Dean vs. Boo, yes, I enjoy writing it as much as you enjoy reading it. One of my betas is really big on that saga, so I try to throw it in whenever I can. Hope you enjoyed the latest hamster bit. You know, it's funny—Boo is quite important, yet he's rarely present in the story. Strange…anyways, thanks so much for reviewing!

**Hero Lilly**: Sorry that I made you wait so long for this chapter—especially after all of the lovely things that you said in your last review. Let me know what you think of this one, okay?! Thanks for reviewing!

**PRACK**: You know, I've totally considered a 'Dean and Aubrey playing Barbies' scene—I actually have it laid out in my head. If I can fit it into the next chapter, I'll go for it. So how do you think I did with Missouri? I should totally bring in Jo, just to annoy you. JUST KIDDING! I wouldn't do that to you, especially since you've lovingly caved into my demands to not kill all of your characters. LOL! Anyways, thanks for reviewing! TTYL!

**zuimar**: Thanks for being so forgiving about the long wait…do you feel like being that forgiving about my latest long wait? Yeah, lately, I've been totally sucky at updating quickly. The good news is, I've actually typed up about 3 pages of the next chapter, so I've gotten a start on it. Since Missouri is one of your favorite characters, what did you think of her in this chapter? Did I do alright? Thanks for reviewing!

**Phoenix07**: Wow, an all-caps review! Your enthusiasm makes me smile—I'm sorry that I made you wait so long! But don't worry—Aubrey and Dean's issues will be worked out in the next chapter…mostly because, as much as I love angst, I couldn't bear to have them hate one another permanently. Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing!

**CagedTroll**: Thanks for beta-ing this chapter for me! I think I took care of everything you pointed out—let me know if I totally messed something up! Thanks for reviewing the last chapter for me, too! Hugs!


	22. Soul Searching

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks to my betas—CagedTroll and mimishell! You guys rock! Enjoy, everyone!

Chapter 22: Soul Searching

Despite a full eight hours of sleep—a rare occurrence for him—John woke feeling wrung out, like he'd been ridden hard and put away wet.

_Shit, what time is it? _

A quick glance at the clock showed that it was almost eleven, eliciting an aggravated moan, even as he cursed the sunlight streaming in on him from the window. The absence of a small form plastered to his side was enough to tell him the twins had long since gotten up, graciously leaving their father to sleep for awhile longer.

_Aubrey must have found Sam,_ he thought as he rubbed his eyes groggily. _But how the hell did I not hear them get up? You're slipping, John._ Dragging himself out of bed, he slowly trudged down the stairs and into the kitchen to see Missouri taking a plate of food out of the microwave.

"It's about time you got your lazy self out of bed," she told him, eyeing him reproachfully even as she set the steaming plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon in front of him. "I slaved away here in this kitchen to fix you and your brood some _real_ food, the least you could do is get up and come eat it before it gets all cold."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry—get your rear-end out of bed at a decent time. I'm a fine cook, but breakfast don't taste quite as good reheated."

"'s alright," John mumbled, wincing at the harshness of his voice as he picked up his fork and began to eat.

"The kids didn't give you any trouble, did they?"

"No, they were just fine," Missouri told him, pouring him a cup of steaming, black coffee before she sat down in front of him.

"And Dean? He wasn't rude or disrespectful, was he?"

"No, he was quiet this morning," she replied, frowning a bit as she took a sip of her own coffee. "It was a real tense table here this morning, John—that little gal of yours is as anxious as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin' chairs, and she made it _real_ clear that she didn't want Dean sittin' with them."

_Dammit._

"Where are they now?"

"Sam and the twins are outside on the back porch—Sam is readin' of course, and the other two were messin' around with crayons. I wouldn't let them color inside—I don't like crayons in my house, John Winchester," she told him with a narrowed gaze. "They get stepped on and broken into my carpet and the fool things like to never come out."

_I guess I shouldn't mention that Braden has a tendency to draw on things other than paper_, John thought as he swallowed a bite of eggs.

"John, that boy better not draw on my walls," she broke in, her finger pointed at him menacingly.

"If he does, I'll make sure he cleans it up."

"Well, you just best be remembering that, and you make sure to tell that boy. Crayons are a menace to clean up."

"Yeah, I'm not too fond of the damn things myself," John grumbled, thinking about how mad Dean was gonna be when he saw the broken crayon bits littering the back floorboard of the Impala. _Probably as pissed off as I was when I saw them in the seat of my truck._

"Well if the younger ones are outside, where's Dean?"

"Poor boy is sittin' in front of the TV all by his lonesome, wallowing in hurt."

"Dammit." He sighed, dropping his fork on his plate with a clatter as he rubbed at his face wearily.

"What are you gonna do, Johnny?"

"I was kinda hoping it would sort of work itself out," he muttered, looking down into his coffee mug to avoid her gaze.

"John Winchester! This problem isn't gonna go away if you ignore it long enough. It's gonna fester, and you know better than most what happens to a wound when it goes untended for long. If you don't take care of the problems brewing in your family, you're gonna have a whole mess of trouble on your hands."

"Yeah, I guess so," he said, climbing to his feet and picking up his plate to put it in the sink. "Thanks for breakfast."

_Translation: conversation over. _

"What are you gonna do?" she asked again, unwilling to let the matter go. _She probably figures if she doesn't bug the hell outta me about it, that I'm not gonna do anything…and if it hadn't gotten this fucking bad, maybe she'd have been right. But I can't let this go anymore._

"I'm gonna fix it," he said resolutely.

"How?" she asked gently, and though he wasn't facing her, he knew she was staring at him, waiting expectantly for an answer.

"I'll figure something out," he said softly over his shoulder.

_I have to._

* * *

On the small, secluded dock on the edge of a long-forgotten pond, John watched Aubrey peel her shoes and socks off, dangling her feet over the side as she stared up at him expectantly. Wordlessly, John handed her a small fishing pole that he'd already baited before he eased down next to her. It had been years since he'd last gone fishing—shortly before Mary's death, he thought.

But it was the only thing he could think of to reach the little girl without submitting himself to the painful awkwardness of a chick-flick moment. Of course, after watching her stare down at the bait with what could only be described as absolute disgust, John was starting to wonder.

_Okay, so maybe going fishing isn't the best way to bond with my daughter, but it was either that or hunting spirits. This strikes me as the lesser of two evils, so fishing it is._

_Hell, might as well be manly if I'm gonna be forced to talk with my daughter about her feelings._

"Daddy, I don't know what to do," she told him, looking skeptically from John to the rod with a frown on her face.

"Just cast it."

"Huh?"

Having always preferred actions over words, John demonstrated, artfully casting the line out into the water with a flick of his wrist. Worrying her bottom lip, Aubrey hesitantly followed suit, albeit not nearly as gracefully as her bait and hook landed with a plop in the water.

She patiently watched the plumb bob up and down for a few minutes before she turned to look up at John skeptically.

"Isn't something 'sposed to happen?"

"You've gotta be patient, Aub," John said with a chuckle, grinning at the aggravated expression replacing the grief-stricken one of earlier.

"No, I think mine's broken, Daddy—I should have a fish by now."

"Sweetheart, the thing about fishing is that you can relax and just let whatever happens happen. Quit worrying about catching a fish and just enjoy the moment. If you're meant to catch a fish, you will."

_Wow, that was pretty damn philosophical of you, Johnny, _John thought with a rueful shake of his head.

"Fine," Aubrey muttered. "But I'm gonna be pissed if God don't let me catch a damn fish," she muttered.

"Don't let Pastor Jim hear you say that," he replied, chagrined to realize he and the boys had already sullied Aubrey's vocabulary with profanity.

_Sorry, Jim. But it's not like I can really put a stop to it—I mean, the boys talk that way all the time, and it's too late to put a stop to it now. And I can't let the boys do it, and not let the twins. Never let it be said that I'm not democratic in my crap-parenting._

It fell quiet after that, and from the corner of his eye, John could see Aubrey slowly relax, the tension that had kept her frame taut slowly melting away as she began to swing her feet over the water. All around them, things were calm and serene, a rare enough occurrence that, normally, John would have enjoyed the opportunity to sit in relative peace. Unfortunately, he knew well enough that the peace was going to be short-lived. Knowing that he was going to have to not only bring up a painful subject but actually _talk_ about it in what could only be construed as painfully awkward was enough to ruin the rare moment of tranquility.

But knowing what he had to do didn't make it any easier to initiate the conversation, so if he let the silence stretch out for perhaps a little longer than he should have, well, he was okay with that. But as the sun began to grow warm on his back and Aubrey reeled in her line for another hopeful peek, John reluctantly admitted that he couldn't really let things go any longer.

"Aubrey?"

"Sir?"

"You know we need to talk, don't you?"

"About what?" she asked innocently, and John was hard-pressed to say whether she was sincerely asking or if she was just playing dumb.

_Hell, she's eight—I'll give her the benefit of a doubt. Even if she is a Winchester and no doubt sneaky enough to try something like that._

"About everything that's happened lately—about your mom. And about Dean."

"I don't wanna talk about any of that," she said softly, her hands tightening around the fishing rod as she dropped her line back into the water.

"That's alright. You don't have to say a word. You just have to listen, because if we let this go any longer, it's gonna rip this family apart. And hell, Aubrey, I know we're not exactly the Brady Bunch, but…we gotta stick together, because we're all we've got. So I'm gonna talk, and I really need you to listen—you think you can do that for your old man?"

"Okay, Daddy," she whispered, biting her lip as she gazed down at her dangling feet as though they held the secret of the universe.

_Okay, so far so good. Now what? Where do I start?_

"You know, Dean's really hurting right now—he's as upset as you are about what happened with your mom."

"Yeah right," she mumbled, her face darkening with anger. "He don't care about my mama at all, 'cause if he did, he never woulda hurt her or shot her or nothin'!"

"He cares—you just won't let him close enough to talk to you about it. Dean's not so great when it comes to showing how he feels—he gets that from me, I guess—but he cares more than you know."

She didn't respond, instead glaring silently at the pond like it could somehow absorb all of her rage into its still waters.

"The boys' mother—my wife, Mary—she was killed by something, too," John said quietly. "Dean was a few years younger than you when it happened—he was four."

"Was he sad?" she asked hesitantly after a long, quiet moment.

"Yeah. Yeah, he was," John said, clearing his throat as he tried to speak past the lump of ancient grief that surfaced every time he spoke of Mary. "He was never the same after that." _Neither of us was._ She was silent at that, and John continued. "I know you don't think so, but Dean knows what you're going through. Maybe more than any of us."

"Then why did he hurt Mama?" she exploded, her eyes filling with angry tears as she turned to stare at him with a mixture of confusion and anguish.

"Baby, do you remember the day you called me, the day you and Braden heard your mom scream?"

"Uh huh," she whispered, falling silent once more as she thought back on that day with what John knew wasn't pleasant recall.

"Your mom didn't make it out of the house that day, baby," John told her, in that instant bitterly hating the world for having to tell his child something so painful.

"Nuh-uh! She was okay, 'cause she came back for us!"

"Aubrey, the thing that came into your house was called a Minion. And I know all of this isn't gonna make much sense to you, but I need you to try and understand as much as you can, okay?"

"'kay," she told him, refocusing her gaze on the water as she looked away.

"Now, this Minion, well…it took your mother's soul," John said softly, wincing as the words came out of his mouth. _How do you explain something like this to an eight-year-old? I mean, what do they know about souls, anyway? _"That didn't make much sense, did it?"

"Nuh-uh," she mumbled, shaking her head.

"Okay, the part of your mom that wasn't her body—the part that, well, made her your mom—the Minion took that away from her. And when it did that, your mom's body…well, baby, it couldn't live without the other part."

_Does she understand what I'm saying? Hell, I don't even know that _I_ know what I'm saying. Fuck._

"A body can't live without the soul, the other part, Aubrey. When your mom's soul was taken, her body had nothing left, and well, the Minion took advantage of that, took her body while it was at it. _That's_ what you saw Dean fighting, baby. It wasn't your mom—it was the Minion using her body like an empty shell."

"People can't do that, Daddy," she pointed out, shaking her head in denial as she looked back at him with confusion.

"It wasn't a person, Aubrey. It was a demon."

She was quiet for a long moment, and John waited, trying to give her some time to process what he'd told her.

"You mean a demon like the ones that Bray talks about sometimes, the ones in the Bible?" she asked tentatively.

"Yeah. That's what I do—I kill things like that, things that hurt people."

"You killed the Minion wearing Mama's body?"

"Yeah, baby, I did—sent it straight back to hell where it belonged," he said darkly, remembering only a split second after he'd said it that he was still talking to an eight-year-old who didn't really need all of the details. _Whoops._

"Then what happened to Mama's body?" she asked, and John felt his throat tighten at the timid question that he knew wasn't going to be easy to answer to.

"It was empty again after that," John told her gently.

"Then Mama could have it back, right?"

"I'm afraid not, sweetheart. That soul-part of your mom, well, there was no way for it to be put back with her body."

"Well, where was the other part, the not-her-body soul-part? Did it go to Hell too?" she asked, her eyes widening with growing concern.

"No, Aub. She went into your Uncle Bobby's amulet for awhile, so she'd be safe. He released her and the other souls the Minion had stolen right before we left North Carolina."

"So she went to Heaven?"

"Yeah, I reckon so."

"How come we couldn't put her back in her body instead?" she asked, her voice thick with barely suppressed emotion.

"Because the only way for people to do something like that is through means best left the hell alone—that's dark stuff, baby. Humans were never meant to mess with shit like that—it's dangerous, and it's evil."

"So she's gone for forever and ever?"

"Yeah, baby. I'm sorry," he said, knowing it was small comfort to a grieving eight-year-old but feeling like he needed to say it anyway.

"I wanted her to come back," she said tearfully, her voice breaking as she stared up at him with haunted eyes. "Why didn't Mama's soul-part go back to her body where it was 'posed to be?!"

"Sweetheart, it wasn't your mama's fault. Once the tie between a body and a soul is severed, not much short of an act of God can put them back together."

A shudder seemed to go through her then, and without warning, she dropped the fishing rod onto the dock and threw herself at him, crying pitifully. It wasn't the hysterical crying or the tired, worn-out sobs of the past few days. It was the heart-wrenching outpouring of a child struggling to mourn and cope with the loss of a parent, something John knew was irreplaceable. And all he could do was hold her, drowning in the sense of helplessness and anguish that gripped them both. He could feel the warm spill of tears falling onto the collar of his t-shirt, her grief at odds with the illusion of peace that the sunshine and still waters had created, and John felt an irrational sense of anger.

"I'm sorry," he said again as he hugged her close, rocking her back and forth as she held onto him, her arms tight around him. _I never thought I'd have to do this again. Hurts as much now as it did when I had to explain it to Dean, and it for damn sure wasn't any easier. Watching your children hurt is painful no matter how much their mother figures into it. And hell, all I can say is, 'I'm sorry.' _

_Because really, what else is left to say?_

* * *

When Missouri's screen-porch door creaked open, John looked up from the gun he was oiling to see Dean standing on the threshold, biting his lip as he looked over at Aubrey, who was halfheartedly playing with a Barbie, not really up to being inside with the boys, who had found a movie to watch on TV. Dean glanced at John, his eyes questioning, and John grimaced inwardly as he realized Dean was asking for permission to try and talk to his sister.

_Maybe I should make him wait—she's got a lot on her mind. _But looking at the almost desperate expression on Dean's face, John couldn't bring himself to let his oldest down. _And hell, I've already seen what happens when I let this shit go on too long. Might as well give him a chance, and shit, maybe he'll manage to bring her around._

With a resigned sigh, John slowly nodded, hoping that allowing Dean to have a go at talking to the eight-year-old wasn't going to come back to bite him in the ass.

_Just take it slow, son. I've done what I can—the rest is up to you._

Stepping out with a deep breath, Dean limped over to where she sat on the steps. She looked up when his shadow fell over her, and her bright, blue eyes stared up at him nervously.

"Hey," Dean said softly.

"Hey," she whispered back, glancing back down at her Barbie held limply in her hands. Dean took a step closer, no doubt encouraged by the fact that Aubrey wasn't shying away or screaming at him.

"You mind if I sit?" he asked, nodding toward the space beside her, even as John tensed, preparing for a potential meltdown on Aubrey's part. But she merely glanced at the spot Dean was indicating, staring down at it for a moment before she finally shrugged, leaving it up to him. Slowly, Dean moved closer, grimacing as he cautiously lowered himself down to the step.

"So…uh…whatcha doin'?" Dean asked, the tense way he held himself more than enough to tell John that his oldest was uncertain what sort of reception he was going to get.

"Playin' Barbies," Aubrey told him softly, and an uncomfortable silence fell until Aubrey quietly added, "You can play, too. If you want."

_I don't think he's that desperate, sweetheart. Maybe if you held out for another week or so, he'd cave, but—_

"Ah, why the hell not? But I want a blond chick—I don't do brunettes."

_Didn't see that one comin',_ John thought with a snort, turning the gun in his hands almost forgotten as he watched Aubrey reach down hesitantly and hold out another Barbie, handing it to her brother wordlessly as John looked on in utter surprise.

_And that easily, she gets over it? Well, fuck me. I guess the way to a little girl's heart is to agree to play Barbies with her—wish I'd figured that out sooner. But then, I guess that's why Dean's better at this sort of shit than me. _

"So…uh, how the hell does this work anyway?" Dean asked as John shifted his gaze, pretending to return his attention back to the gun in his hands.

"Whatcha mean?"

"I mean, how does she work? What does she do?"

"She's a doll, Dean—she only does what you make her do."

"Oh. What the hell kinda fun is that?"

"You hafta make something up for her to do, and then you make her do," Aubrey elaborated, demonstrating for him by holding her Barbie up and flipping it over and posing it into a ballet-like pirouette. "And you hafta talk for her, too, 'cause she don't talk by herself. I don't got one of those dolls."

"Okay," Dean replied, falling silent as he stared down at the Barbie in his hands with a thoughtful expression.

_This is the point where he realizes that agreeing to play Barbies was pretty damn stupid,_ John thought with a smirk, only to be surprised as hell when Dean grinned suddenly.

"Hey, Barbie," Dean said suddenly, the words emerging in an obnoxious high-pitch as he stood his doll up in front of Aubrey's. "Let's go kick some werewolf ass," he continued, grabbing a small twig and balancing it carefully in the doll's hands as a stand-in, John knew, for a miniature machete.

_Where the hell does he come up with this shit? _he wondered, beginning to enjoy himself immensely.

"Dean, Barbie can't do that," Aubrey exclaimed, more animated than she'd been in days as she looked up at him with a smile.

"Sure she can—haven't you ever heard of Kick-Ass Hunter Barbie? 'She slices, she dices, she decapitates," Dean said, posing his Barbie into as close a fighting stance as a plastic chick with mostly immobile limbs can get. "No fugly's takin' _her_ out, that's for damn sure," Dean continued with a confident smirk that put his father's to shame. Aubrey giggled, her eyes lit with sudden delight, even as John fought back his laughter at the two of them.

"Okay, you can be Hunter Barbie, and I'll be Almost-Hunter Barbie, Hunter Barbie's assistant," Aubrey said, obviously swept up by Dean's enthusiasm.

"Sweet. Alright, where's our cool as hell ride, Almost-Hunter Barbie?"

"Oh…Dean, I don't have one of those," Aubrey whispered to him, breaking into Dean's little game for a moment to address him.

"What? Aw, you gotta be kidding me—we can't be hunters without a kick-ass car! I mean, how are we gonna go and kill fuglies?"

"Sorry, Dean," Aubrey said with an apologetic shrug.

"Well…that sucks out loud…but I guess we'll make do for now," Dean replied with a sigh, shaking his head regretfully. "So how about we get this show on the road and go kill us a werewolf?"

"How do we do that, Hunter Barbie?" Aubrey asked, getting back into character as she stared up at Dean with growing adoration.

"First, we need to get us some silver ammo—oh but wait, I don't have a gun. Because _someone_ doesn't know any GI Joes, and the only guy friends she has are fuckin' useless and only come with shoes."

"Dean," John said pointedly, frowning at his oldest son's language.

"Sorry," Dean said unapologetically as he rephrased, "…the only guy friends she has are _damn_ useless and only come with shoes. But lucky for you, Almost-Hunter Barbie, I'm resourceful. So we'll use this silver blade. But just know for next time—it's better to use a gun against a werewolf, 'cause if you use a knife, you're gonna have to get in close, which is risky, 'cause werewolves can get pretty damn large, and they're strong as hell."

"How come we gotta use silver?"

"Because anything other than silver is just gonna piss it off," Dean answered, even as John shook his head.

_Only Dean could manage to play Barbies with his sister and turn it into a hunting lesson…actually, it's pretty damn brilliant. At last, he's using his powers for good and not evil,_ he thought, reminded of the hamster list even as he watched Dean work his creative magic with his younger sister.

"What if we don't got any silver?"

"Then we won't be going after werewolves. First rule of hunting, you see, is that you gotta know what you're hunting, and you gotta know how to kill it. You never rush into a hunt without the proper know-how and the proper tools."

Leaving them to it, John refocused his attention on his weapons, not looking up again until he sensed a shift in mood, the playfulness of before suddenly turning serious. He glanced up in time to see Aubrey stop playing as she looked up at Dean with an intense expression.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not mad at you no more."

"'m glad," Dean replied, absentmindedly playing with the doll in his hands, bending it back and forth and watching with eyes that weren't really seeing.

"And you're not mad at me, are you?" Aubrey asked him hesitantly, staring up at him worriedly.

"Never was, Aub. Never was."

"That's good…Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Daddy said your mama died when you was little…"

"Yeah," Dean said tightly, and even from across the porch, John could see Dean tense up the way he always did when someone spoke of Mary.

"Did you see your Mama die, too?" she asked, and for a long, painful moment, John didn't think Dean was going to answer.

_Baby, it doesn't matter that the answer is no—it still hurts him to talk about it_, John thought, starting to set his gun aside so he could intervene.

"Yeah," Dean abruptly bit out, his voice low and harsh with suppressed emotion that mirrored John's own when he thought of Mary. But it was more than Dean's tone that made John's heart clench painfully in his chest.

_What? Ah, n__o, _John thought with growing horror, denial screaming in his head even as it registered deep down that Dean was telling Aubrey the truth. _Why the hell didn't he ever tell me he saw her that night, that he saw her burn? I thought he'd at least been spared that._

But once again, Dean had managed to conceal the truth of that painful night under a mask of silence and bravado.

_Fuck._

"I miss my mama," Aubrey murmured, staring sadly down at the Barbie that now lay abandoned on her lap.

"I miss mine, too," Dean replied softly, dragging his hand down his face as he inhaled sharply.

"Does your throat hurt when you think about her? My throat always hurts right here," she said, pointing even as tears welled up in her eyes.

"Yeah."

"And my heart hurts, too," she said as the tears slowly began to trickle down her face.

"Yeah."

"Will it go away soon?"

"No," he told her, shaking his head regretfully as he looked back at her with a saddened expression. "But it gets a little better, after a long time. You don't feel it so much after awhile," he told her, dropping the now forgotten Barbie onto the step as he stared down at his hands, completely unaware that just ten feet away, his father's heart was breaking all over again as he listened. "We still got Dad, though. And Sammy. And Braden now, too, I guess."

"Yeah, but what if you disappear like my mama did that day?"

"I won't."

"You promise?"

"Yeah, I promise."

And John knew without a doubt that it was a promise his oldest fully intended to keep.

"Dean?" Aubrey asked after a moment as she leaned over and picked up the doll that Dean had dropped.

"What?"

"I know I said you weren't, but I didn't mean it--you _are_ a good brother, even if you _don't _like Boo. You're funny, and you're better at Barbies than Sam is."

The ache in John's heart eased somewhat as Aubrey's words registered suddenly, leaving him chuckling as a calculating gleam came into Dean's eyes.

"Sammy sucks at Barbies, huh? And you know this for a fact?"

"Oh. Whoops. I wasn't 'sposed to tell you," Aubrey said with a sheepish expression on her face.

"Little sister, think nothing of it," Dean said, patting her shoulder comfortingly as he climbed to his feet with a muffled groan of pain and headed for the door, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "OH, SAMMY!" he yelled, casting a grin at his father a split second before he slung the door open wide and disappeared inside, still calling for Sam.

"Dean, don't start shit with your brother!" John hollered after him, shaking his head at the sheer futility of trying to stop the inevitable brotherly scuffle that was about to ensue.

_Might as well just give up and let it happen—hell, at least it's normal. Now if we could just figure out what the fuck is going on with Braden, then maybe things would be okay. Well, as okay as things can _ever_ be in our family. _

* * *

A/N: I realize that the show never alludes to Dean actually seeing Mary die, but I don't find it all that implausible that Dean could have seen something. If Dean reached John in the hallway right outside of Sammy's nursery, he could conceivably have seen her over John's shoulder. Which would explain his response to any mention of her. Regardless of whether it's true, I'm going with it.

On another note, the next chapter is gonna move us forward in time—the twins will be about 15 years old, which will put Dean at 24 and Sam at 20. It was really hard to make the decision to go ahead with the shift, but I needed the twins older in order to really get into the stuff with Braden. I'm not ruling out possible future fics or flashbacks that revert back to them as children, but for now, this chapter will be the last of the WeeChesters.

Anyways, thanks to everyone who reviewed!

**Jenmm31**: Yeah, so despite my attempts at posting quickly, it totally didn't happen this time, either. Sorry about the long waits between chapters. I like to write long chapters, because otherwise, it doesn't seem worth it. The problem is, doing so takes time. Factor in the amount of time it takes for both of my betas to read over a chapter and get it back to me, plus the time it takes for me to fix any errors, and well…you can see the problem. But I'm trying to go as fast as I can, really! Haha! Thanks, though, for reviewing! Expect things with Braden to heat up now that the issues with Aubrey and Dean are cleared up.

**zuimar**: Thanks for the compliment concerning Missouri in the last chapter—how did I do in this one? She's sort of tricky to write, to be honest with you, especially since she's only in that one episode of the show—there's not a lot of material to draw from. On another note, now that Aubrey and Dean are taken care of, you can expect to see the issue with Braden taking center stage. Funny, that was supposed to be the main plot of this fic, but it sort of got pushed aside in favor of the 'family bonding and cuteness' stuff. But I'm okay with that! Anyways, thanks for reviewing!

**PRACK**: I bet I made you cry in this chapter, too! Let me know if I'm right! Yeah, I imagine post-nap Dean is pretty adorable—tousled hair and all. Haha! Anyways, I'm looking forward to that John-Naomi ficlet that you've been promising me, so hurry up, dammit!

**irishgirl9**: So yeah, something _is_ definitely up with Bray…but I can't reveal any more than that to you right now. The deal with him is gonna take center stage now, though, so you can expect to find out more soon.

**Hero** **Lilly**: Thanks for the lovely compliments—I'm glad that you can see the twins in your head! That's how I see it, too—like a movie playing out in my mind's eye. Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing!

**Isolda**: You're very close in your assessment of Braden. You'll find out more soon—the next chapter really starts laying the groundwork for what's to come in regards to him. Glad you like him as much as I do. You know, it's funny—when it comes to Aubrey, I've found that people seem to either love her or hate her—there's little in the way of middle ground. I like to think she's likeable and sweet, but just traumatized. She'll be more 'normal' in the next chapter, though she's not without her issues—after all, she _is _a Winchester. Anyways, you'll have to let me know what you think of her in the future! Thanks so much for reviewing!

**michelexXx**: LOL—I'm glad you know that blessing better than Sam does! You'd probably get some strange looks and some giggles if you said it his way! Glad you enjoyed the last chapter—thanks for reviewing!

**nightingale**: I've missed you! I was starting to worry, because I hadn't heard from you in so long! Yes, you're right, I really don't make things easy for John—I do like him, though! He's a great character—so fun to write. I'm glad to hear that you liked my Missouri—she's tricky to write because we only see her in one episode. I liked her in the show, but I also wanted to show the more caring side of her. Anyways, thanks for reviewing. Sorry I couldn't fit a Boo moment in this chapter—I tried, but as one of my betas pointed out, it didn't work well with the scenes in this one. Maybe some other time. Anyways, thanks for reviewing!


	23. Clinging to the Mundane

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Okay, so this chapter bumps us forward in time, so we've now come to what all of us commonly refer to as the Stanford Years. The chapter is taking place in September, so Aubrey and Bray are fourteen, Sam is twenty, and Dean is twenty-three. Note: Sam isn't actually in this chapter, though he will be back in the story soon.

A/N 2: Thanks to _mimishell_ and _CagedTroll_—as always—for their magnificent help, and thanks also to _Paper Roses and Candy Kisses_ (oh she of the long pen names) for breaking the tie over nicknames that my betas unknowingly got me trapped in! By the way, the latter has a great Dean/OC series that you should all look into, because Naomi has great chemistry with our boy. Okay, that, and Paper Roses always lovingly gives in when I beg for a scene or a certain ending—she's nice like that! Anyways, without further ado…

Chapter 23: Clinging Tenaciously to the Mundane

_So I wonder how she knows me…it's not like we talk or anything…I mean, we have Chemistry II together, but that's not exactly one of those classes where you get a chance to actually talk to anyone…_

"Aubrey, hold the damn light steady!"

The sound of Dean's voice echoing up from the opened grave at her feet broke Aubrey out of her train of thought. It was her turn to keep watch, and she was supposed to be holding the flashlight and keeping a look out for her brothers while they dug up the grave, but well…she'd been distracted. It wasn't her fault, though—no, it was all Lyssa Martin's fault.

_But Dean doesn't need to know that…_

"Sorry," she told him with a guilty expression, steadying the beam of light from the flashlight onto the annoyed form of her oldest brother. From his place beside Dean, Braden cast a questioning look at her, but she shook her head, not wanting to mention it yet.

_No, gotta wait for just the right time to bring it up. And not in front of Dean._

"You know, if you can't do it right, I can come up there and hold the fucking light and let you do all the hard shit."

"No, that's okay—I mean, you're doing such a good job, I wouldn't want to get in the way," she said, aiming a grin at him that earned her a dirty look from the older Winchester. "And you missed a little bit of dirt over there," she told him mischievously, pointing at a space about a foot away from him.

"Hey, watch it, smartass—I could still drag you down here to finish digging."

"Yeah, yeah—alright, I'll do better," she said good-naturedly, knowing well enough that he'd continue to, well, bitch at her unceasingly if she didn't buck up and do it right. The bitching was about all he could do, after all, 'cause they both knew good and well that he wouldn't follow through on the threat.

He knew better.

Aubrey was just clumsy enough that putting her in a small space with a shovel was inviting disaster. The last time she'd been put on digging duty, she'd managed to accidentally slam Dean in the back of the head with the shovel, leaving him with a gash that had required stitches as well as a better appreciation for her lack of skill with a shovel. She wasn't ten anymore, but somehow, an added four years hadn't seemed to make Dean or their father any more inclined to let her help with the digging.

_I guess I should be grateful they let me handle the weapons, then…_

Of course, that was more out of necessity than a trust in her abilities, she reckoned, but she supposed their reasoning didn't really matter in the long run.

_Hmm…wonder if Dean's gonna let me start driving the Impala when I get my permit next month…_

"Hey, D?"

"What?" he asked absentmindedly, his mind obviously more on the task at hand than his younger sister's random musing.

"You know me and Bray are gonna turn fifteen next month."

"Yeah. So?" Dean asked, slinging dirt up an impressive rate that was indicative of years of experience as he moved in tandem with Braden.

"So are you gonna let us drive the Impala?"

"Hell no."

"Aw, c'mon, big brother," she cajoled, grinning as she needled him. She knew darn good and well that he'd never let her practice driving in his precious baby. Heck, Braden had only been allowed to drive her once, and that was only because Dean had been so badly concussed that night that he could barely see straight, so he'd been just out of it enough not to notice when Bray took the keys from him and drove them home. And he hadn't remembered the next day. Her twin had threatened her to within an inch of her life not to say anything about it—and she wouldn't—but it was just too easy to get a rise out of Dean, and she'd never been one to let the opportunity pass. Hence the pestering.

"But D, I'll be _sooo_ careful with her!" she told him.

"Five words—over my cold, dead body," he replied, not even deigning to look up as he shoveled another load of dirt up.

"Oh, but I'm sure I could do a good job," she continued.

"Tell you what, when you get rid of that latest rodent of yours, we'll talk about you driving my baby. Maybe. Until then, the answer is no. Now quit pestering me and keep your eyes open for any pissed off spirits."

"Fine," she said with a sigh, wishing he had let the banter continue for awhile longer. _This is boring. _And yeah, it was stupid, but she was sort of wishing something _would_ show up, just to alleviate the boredom of standing there holding the stupid flashlight steady while her brothers dug up another in a long series of rotting corpses.

_I wish Sam was still here… he'd be helping Dean dig, and Bray would be up here with me, and it'd be like we were a real family again, almost complete. _

But Sam had been gone for two years now, and based on the lack of communication, Aubrey figured he wasn't gonna be coming back, at least not anytime soon. She was angry at him, hurt that he'd left them behind without so much as a backwards glance. But mostly, she just missed him.

A sudden chill hit her neck, and without conscious thought, she dropped to her knees, yelling out a warning.

"Dean!"

She dropped the flashlight, reaching for the shotgun resting at the edge of the grave, but Dean beat her to it, the barrel of the gun suddenly aimed somewhere behind her. She flinched at the sound of the shotgun going off, the noise echoing through the previously silent cemetery.

"Crap, Dean!"

As the pissed off spirit of Carl Rafferty vanished in a spray of rock-salt that peppered Aubrey's arms, Dean expelled the shell, chambering another round as Braden heaved himself out of the grave, grabbing up another shotgun.

"Aubby, catch!" he yelled out, and Aubrey looked up just in time to catch it as Braden dropped back into the grave and kept digging. She clambered to her feet and placed herself at Dean's shoulder, the two of them on the look-out for the spirit.

"Don't you shoot me by accident, Aub," Dean said with a grin as his eyes searched the darkness.

"Shut-up," she retorted. "I'm a lot better than I used to be—even Daddy says so. Besides, it's rock-salt—it's not like it would kill you."

"Yeah, but that shit hurts. You're lucky Dad lets you even hold a—oh, fuck! Drop!"

She hit the dirt without a moment's hesitation as Dean took up a protective stance in front of her, firing a round at Carl, only to curse darkly when the spirit dissipated before the rock-salt made contact. Just as quickly, Carl reappeared four feet away and, with a flick of his wrist, sent Dean's shotgun spinning out of his hands to land well out of reach.

"Shit! Aubrey, take the shot!" he yelled, dropping to his knees in front of her as she shot to her feet and fired over his shoulder. Intense pride welled up inside her as her shot hit its mark, but the victory was short-lived as Dean was suddenly launched through the air with a harsh cry, his large frame slamming into a headstone some fifteen feet away.

"Dean! Bray, Dean's down, but I can't check on him until you're done—hurry up!" Aubrey yelled, feeling her heart racing in her chest as she loaded another round.

_Please, God, let him be okay,_ she prayed, eyeing Dean's still form even as she backed up, bracing her back against Carl's headstone.

"Got it!" Braden yelled up, the sound of rotten wood breaking up followed by the sight of Braden hauling himself out of the hole in the ground. "Where's the—"

"On top of the duffel!" she yelled back, anticipating his question even as her eyes scanned their surroundings.

Braden lunged for the duffel, ducking when a fallen tree branch suddenly came flying in his direction. His hand closed on the salt as Aubrey desperately searched for a target to shoot, but before he could grab the kerosene, the can was blasted away by another unnatural gust of wind. She shifted to go after it, but Braden's voice halted her.

"Leave it, Aub! The flask in Dean's jacket—get it now!"

With a nod, she ran for Dean, wishing she had the time to check on him, but knowing that none of them could afford that at the moment.

Nerves and adrenaline had her hands shaking as she hurriedly delved into his inner jacket pocket for the small flask of whiskey he kept there.

_It's not kerosene, but it'll do in a pinch I guess, _she thought as she grasped it, patting Dean's shoulder before she jumped to her feet. _I'll be right back, D_, she thought as she ran back towards the open grave.

Braden had managed to liberally shower the grotesque-looking body with salt, and by the time she reached him, he already had his hand out for the flask. She slapped it into his open palm, turning to guard his back only to feel an unseen force slam into her with enough strength to send her flying through the air on a trajectory similar to the one her older brother had just taken. Making a last second decision to protect herself from the inevitable pain of smashing into the ground, Aubrey dropped the shotgun and tucked into a ball, wrapping her arms protectively around her head.

She crashed into the ground a moment later, crying out as she rolled into a tree, even as the pissed off spirit of one Carl Rafferty screamed his last and disappeared in a blaze of fire.

_Ooh, pretty. Not._

"Aubby, you okay?" Braden called out as a stillness settled over the now peaceful cemetery once again.

"Yeah," she grumbled as she climbed to her feet with a grimace, ignoring the bruised sensation sweeping her body as she stumbled over tree roots and graves in her haste to reach Dean. Kneeling down beside him, she gripped his shoulder, shaking it gently. "Dean? D, wake up," she said softly, mindful of Braden coming up behind her.

"'s he alright?" Braden asked, coming up behind her with a concerned expression on his face.

"I dunno—he seems out cold to me," she told him, her expression mirroring his as she tried again to wake Dean.

"Shit," Braden muttered, crouching down beside her to shine his flashlight down on Dean. He reached out to check Dean's pupils, starting to lift one of his eyelids only to have Dean's hand knock him away with an annoyed growl. With a scowl, Dean aimed a narrowed, pain-filled gaze on Braden as he squinted up at him, trying his best to avoid the light.

"You better get that damn light outta m' face, Bray, or I swear 'm gonna kick your ass," Dean swore irritably, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the flashlight Braden was shining on his face.

"Dean, you okay?" she asked, laying a hand on his shoulder as he let out a mumbled curse and closed his eyes again.

"Dude, open your eyes," Braden told him, leaning past Aubrey to lightly tap Dean's face with the flat of his hand.

"Quit it," Dean growled, smacking Braden's hand away as he blinked his eyes open.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Aubrey asked him, holding up three fingers in front of his face.

"I'm _fine_," Dean replied in lieu of an actual answer, pushing her hand aside as he slowly sat up.

_Yeah, right. Sure you are. _

"Do you know what today's date is?" Braden asked, not quite willing to let it go yet.

"Bray, what the hell, man?" Dean retorted. "How often do I know the fucking date, even when I haven't taken a blow to the head? Now, let it go. I tol' you, I'm fine."

"Guess he's okay," Aubrey said hesitantly, biting her lip as she looked back at Braden, unsure.

"He'd better hope so, 'cause if he's not, Dad's gonna find out, and when _that_ happens, he's gonna know Dean took us out on a hunt while he was gone, and _then_ he's gonna be pissed at _all_ of us," Braden told her matter-of-factly.

"Don't be such a pansy—simple salt an' burn," Dean broke in, wincing as he slowly sat up. "Dad can't get pissed a' me for that," Dean mumbled, swatting Braden's hand away again as the younger boy tried once more, unsuccessfully, to check his pupils.

"I think you underestimate Daddy's temper," Aubrey said, already imagining the potential for trouble that that scenario presented.

"Or you overestimate his sense of reason when it comes to this sort of thing," Braden offered with a grin.

"Well, I'm fine, so it doesn't matter—he doesn't have to find out," Dean replied, motioning for Aubrey to move so he could get up. Aubrey shared a look with Braden before she shrugged and stepped back, giving Dean room to climb unsteadily to his feet. She'd have offered to help, but she knew well enough that her big brother wouldn't appreciate the offer.

_Of course, there's also the fact that he's over a foot taller than me—it's not like I'd be much help._

Wordlessly, she and Bray stared at Dean critically, their identical gazes following Dean's back as he trudged back to the graveside of Carl's crispy-fried corpse to collect the shovels and other gear that they'd left abandoned there.

"You two quit starin' and come help me load this shit in the car," he called over his shoulder, not bothering to glance back, and Aubrey took a moment to wonder how he did it. _He's like Dad—he just knows stuff. How does he do that?_

With a long-suffering sigh, Braden climbed to his feet, pulling Aubrey along behind him, even as Aubrey rolled her eyes at their older brother's pigheadedness.

* * *

Dean drove them back to the motel at a significantly slower-than-usual pace, one of those rare occasions when they actually traveled the speed limit, and without music of the classic rock variety blaring through the Impala's speakers at an almost deafening volume.

_Yep, Dean's definitely got a major headache._

The fact was even further confirmed when they reached the motel and Dean left the guns in the trunk rather than bringing them inside to break 'em down and clean 'em like he normally did. Usually, he was about as anal as their dad about maintaining the weapons, but it looked like he wasn't worried about it tonight.

_Better hope Daddy doesn't find out,_ she thought as they followed Dean inside.

"Take care o' the salt lines—'m goin' to bed. Get up in time for school t'morrow," Dean mumbled, dropping his coat on a chair and going to his room, pushing the door shut behind him.

"Aubrey, you do the salt lines—I'll look after Dean."

"Are you sure? You did concussion duty last time…"

_Not that I really want to get up every two hours to deal with an irritable Dean, but it's too unfair to make him do it again. We should get hazard pay or something for having to look after Dean when he's concussed—I keep telling Dad, but…_

"Yeah," Braden said, interrupting her train of thought. "But it's cool—I don't mind." _Yeah, well, you probably won't sleep much anyway._ "Hey, bring in the guns, would ya'? I can get a jump on cleaning them tonight."

"Bray, you can't stay up all night doin' that—it's bad enough you'll have to get up every two hours to wake Dean. I mean, hello? We've got school tomorrow, remember?" she asked sarcastically.

"It's fine, Aubby. I'm used to going without sleep," he told her dismissively, walking past her to the kitchen to retrieve an icepack from the freezer, stopping to grab the first aid kit before heading to Dean's room.

_Yeah, I've noticed. 'Cause you've hardly gotten any for weeks now,_ she thought staring at him with a frown.

"Go ahead and lay the lines," he called back, and with a sigh, she went to grab the bag of salt before she went for the guns.

_Guys are all alike—completely irrational, they don't listen, and they do stupid things, like insist they're fine when they're not. _

_Totally whack._

* * *

Trying to gauge Braden's mood in one quick glance was totally impossible, Aubrey decided as she looked back down at the note she held in her hand. It was the invitation to Lyssa Martin's party on Friday, the invitation that she'd been sitting on for a day and a half already, the one she wasn't even sure how she'd obtained.

_It's not like we're anything resembling what you'd call 'friends'…But it doesn't matter, not really—I'm invited, and that's the important thing._

Of course, being invited didn't mean shit if Braden didn't agree to go, because she sure as hell wasn't going alone. Which was why she was sneaking glances at him, trying to see if he was in a receptive mood.

_It's risky,_ she thought, watching him work through his algebra homework with a slight frown on his face. He hated math—almost as much as she did—and she knew for a fact that it didn't come to him any easier than it did to her. Which was why they weren't doing it together—they were more likely to screw each other up than actually do each other any good.

So Braden was toiling along on his homework, and that's exactly what _she'd_ been doing before she'd gotten distracted again by the invitation that had practically been burning a hole in her pocket since yesterday.

"Aub, quit it," he said suddenly, startling her as he closed his algebra book with a sneer of disgust, not even looking at her as he slid it away and reached for his literature book.

"Quit what?"

"Staring at me—it's annoying."

"Oh. Sorry…" she said, biting her lip. "So…does that mean you're in a bad mood?"

"No," he told her, only then pausing to look up at her suspiciously. "Why?"

_Crap. Better wait 'til later._

"No reason," she told him hastily, wincing inwardly when the words came out less than believable.

"Yeah, right," he mumbled, but he let it go much to her relief, instead flipping open his book to the play they were supposed to start reading for homework. She slumped back in her chair, reaching for the invitation in her jacket pocket, her fingers closing over the paper and sliding it out as Braden started reading.

_Screw it—I can't wait any longer,_ she thought, just about to speak when Braden suddenly slammed the book close and shoved it away with a look of mild annoyance.

"What's wrong?" she asked, shoving the invitation back into her pocket as she eyed him questioningly.

"I'm not gonna read this—I know this story."

"You've read _Dr. Faustus_ before?" Aubrey asked incredulously, raising her eyebrow in an expression that would have made Dean proud.

"Well, not exactly…"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's just familiar somehow. I don't wanna read it again," he said with a shrug.

"But you just said you haven't—nevermind. Anyways, how is it familiar? I mean, who reads that kinda stuff anyway—it's by boring, old dead guys."

"Are you saying you _haven't_ even heard of it, Aub?"

"When would I have heard of it? And why would I _want_ to?"

"Aub—the play's about a man who trades his soul to a demon. Marlowe's connection to the occult has been rumored for almost a hundred years now. Considering what our family does, how can you not have read it, or hell, at least heard of it?"

"Um, maybe because I don't care for anything remotely demonic. I'm not reading it," she told him decisively, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why are we reading that kind of crap anyway?"

"Well, the demon thing is somewhat secondary," he told her as he began to repack his books in his book-bag. "The demon in the play is sort of one of Faustus's own making—it's his own sin that brings about his downfall. It centers around the idea that power corrupts. Of course, there's also that whole thing with the start of the Renaissance at work behind the scenes—it started changing people's moral values, freaked people out," Braden said thoughtfully, and Aubrey could tell his attention was drifting a bit. It always did these days, it seemed.

"Who _are_ you?" she said, staring at him with mock fascination, impressed by the random, eerily mature information despite a lifetime of listening to her twin say things just like it.

"Shut up," he tossed back with a laugh, even as he dragged his backpack off the table and carried it over to rest near the door. "But no, seriously, it's not a bad read—it's a pretty cool story."

"Yeah, well I'm not reading it," Aubrey said, feeling that familiar cold feeling in the pit of her stomach that she always got when she thought about demons. Demons had killed her mom and destroyed every chance she'd had at living a normal life, so anything having to do with them was _numero uno_ on her list of things to avoid at all costs.

_Ghosts and weirdo monsters are one thing, but demons…no, that's a whole different ballgame, and I'm not willing to play_.

"You want me to fill you in on the plot?" Braden asked, breaking into her train of thought.

"No."

"You'll fail the test on it."

"I don't care," she said darkly, meaning every word she said. "Besides, we probably won't be here much longer anyway. Daddy's getting antsy again."

"Yeah, but I think Dean's trying to talk him into staying put for a little longer. And with Dad out on that hunt with Joshua, he's probably gonna cave."

"It doesn't matter," she replied, watching him pull his skateboard out and drag it over to the table along with his repair kit. "I'm still not reading it, and I don't wanna hear about it."

"Alright, have it your way. But don't bitch at me when you fail the test," he said with a light shrug.

"I won't," she muttered as she reluctantly went back to her algebra. _Maybe I could just copy Bray's, just this once. Nah, he's no better than me, and Ms. Nelson would know something was up if I suddenly showed up with the exact same wrong answers, and I don't understand this crap well enough to put in reasonable mistakes. Dang it._

She was able to struggle through one more problem before she finally conceded defeat and decided to scrap homework in favor of asking Braden about the party. After all, he was working on his skateboard, a task guaranteed to relax him, which was a definite point in her favor.

"Bray?"

"Hmm?"

"You know Lyssa Martin, right?" Aubrey asked, twirling a lock of her hair nervously around her finger, her eyes watching him closely.

"President of the senior class, head cheerleader Lyssa Martin? Uh, yeah, Aub, I know who she is."

"Well…um…she sorta invited us to this party she's having…"

"Why?" Braden asked with a raised eyebrow, his face a mixture of morbid curiosity and incredulity as he glanced up from his skateboard to stare at his sister.

"I guess she wants us to come."

"She doesn't know us, Aubrey," Braden pointed out, turning back to the minor repair work he was doing to the wheels. "We're only sophomores, and we're not even fifteen yet—why the hell would she invite us to one of her parties?"

"Well maybe she wants to _get_ to know us."

"Somehow I doubt it," he said, shifting his skateboard around so that he could switch wheels.

"Come on, Bray," she begged, smiling cajolingly at him. "It could be really fun."

"Or not."

Aubrey was what Sam had always liked to call 'surface level social,' which she supposed meant that she found it easy to socialize, but not to the extent where she actually let anyone get close. Actually, Sam had always referred to Dean in such a way, but Braden had applied the description to her, and deep down, she knew it was accurate. While Sam seemed to crave deep-level social connections, she and Dean were content to remain friendly albeit distant. Socializing was fun, so long as no one got too close for it to hurt when they left. Her twin brother, on the other hand, didn't even attempt surface level socialization by her reckoning, more content with her or Dean's company and not at all concerned with making friends or even friendly acquaintances. Which was why she was now begging him to attend a party that she knew he could care less about attending.

"Okay, it could be really fun for _me_," she said pointedly_._ "If you go with me. C'mon, Bray, please!"

"Aubby…I'm tired," he said after a long moment. "Haven't been sleepin' all that great," he mumbled.

"Yeah, I know," she whispered.

It seemed like every time she rolled over or got up to use the bathroom during the night, Braden was lying awake in the bed across from her own, and it had been that way for weeks now. Sure, he'd slept some the night before, but it hadn't lasted long. He'd gone to bed and she'd woken up three hours later when he'd disappeared into the living room. He'd left the bedroom door open so she wouldn't worry—which was the only reason she'd been able to go back to sleep—and when she'd finally nodded off an hour or so later, he'd still been in the other room, awake.

And he was awake when she'd gotten up that morning.

"So…does that mean you don't wanna go?" she asked softly, kicking the ugly brown carpet with the toe of her tennis shoe as she waited for Bray to answer, knowing that it wasn't fair to ask it of him.

Braden heaved a sigh, dropping his wrench down on the table as he looked up to meet her eyes.

"Do you really wanna go that bad?"

"Yeah… But if you don't, I'll understand."

_Of course, if we don't go, we'll probably never get asked again…_she thought sadly, trying her hardest to hide her disappointment.

"Have you thought about going alone?" he asked her slowly, his blue gaze staring at her intently.

"No," she said flatly.

With a slight nod, Braden shifted his attention back to his skateboard.

"Fine," he said quietly, his voice barely above a murmur, but she knew it was the answer she'd been hoping for.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're the best, Bray!" she said happily, already mentally going through her limited wardrobe for something to wear. _I could wear my black cami and put that with my—_

"You realize that none of that matters if you don't get us permission to go, right?"

_Oh. Yeah._

"You think Daddy will let us go?" she asked him, biting her lip uncertainly.

"He might. If he were here. If he gets back in time, he'd probably be cool with it—coming back from a hunt mellows him out, you know. Sometimes. Provided he's not hurt, of course."

"It's just a spirit, right?"

"Yeah. Simple salt and burn, as far as I know."

"So he's sure to say yes," she said, smiling with excitement.

"'Course, it doesn't really matter, 'cause he won't make it back in time," Braden told her matter-of-factly, paying little attention to her as he started to remove one of the wheels on skateboard.

"Bray!"

"Look, what's the big deal? Just ask Dean."

"You think _he'll_ let us go?"

_I mean, it's not like this sort of thing comes up very often. We're not exactly in one place long enough to get in with the party-crowd. And well, since we don't ask to do stuff like this much, he'll probably take pity on us and let us go, right? _

"Probably. So long as nobody's drinking—he says we're too young. 'Course there's also the fact that Dad would kick his ass if he let us go to a party where everyone's drinking. And the fact that he'd worry about us getting hurt or something."

"Daddy would never have to know! And for cryin' out loud, D drinks all the time!"

Of course, if Aubrey was being honest with herself, she'd have to admit that Dean was pretty careful around the twins when it came to drinking. He _was_ careful about it, never allowing his control to slip around them. She knew it stemmed from that sense of 'protect your brothers and sister' that their dad had instilled in him since she and Bray had joined the family, a protective drive that had been carefully fostered since Mary had died. So D only drank enough to get a pleasant buzz, never enough to interfere with his constant state of vigilance over his family. At least, not that she and Bray had ever seen. And how often did Dean leave them alone? Hardly ever.

All of that, of course, was irrelevant, because she knew full well that everyone drank at Lyssa Martin's parties, because Lyssa Martin's _parents_ supplied the beer, so the odds of Dean letting them go had dropped substantially.

"There goes that idea," she mumbled. _'Course, I could lie…_ Just as quickly as the idea occurred to her, she discarded it—she'd never been able to lie all that well, but she couldn't lie worth shit to Dean. "You know, it's totally unfair of him—I mean, Daddy let me drink once, so what's the big deal?"

"Aubrey, he let you have a _sip_ once. That's different. And you didn't even like it."

"Yeah, I know—so why can't D trust us to go to this party and not drink?"

"Why do you wanna go to that party anyway, Aub? It's not like you're friends with her or anything—and why would you wanna be? She's a bitch."

_But she's a popular bitch,_ Aubrey thought, knowing that it was a silly reason to want to go a party, but thinking it anyway.

"Just forget it, Bray—it's not like it matters anymore, 'cause D won't let us go."

Braden heaved another sigh, shaking his head before he tightened the screws on the last wheel.

"Just leave it to me—I'll take care of it."

"Really? You'll do that, even though you really don't even wanna go?"

"Yeah. But you so owe me."

"Okay," she promised, unable to stop the grin emerging on her face. The grin slowly faded though as she watched Braden climb wearily to his feet, his eyes dull and tired. He set his skateboard up against the wall beside the door, careful not to smudge the salt lines, before he started for the door. "Where are you going?"

"Bed, I guess. Try to sleep."

"Bray, what's wrong?" she asked him softly, feeling a sense of helplessness well up in her that she suspected wasn't just her own.

"I dunno. I just feel…I dunno…strange sometimes."

"Strange how?"

"I told you—I dunno."

"Well, have you told Daddy? Or Dean?"

"No, and I'm not going to. And neither are you," he told her, spearing her with a menacing look. "I'm going to this stupid-ass party with you, so you keep your mouth shut about this. I mean it, Aubrey."

"Okay, okay," she retorted, throwing her hands up in mock surrender.

The sound of the motel room door opening interrupted their discussion, preventing Braden from any sort of reply.

"Hey, Tweedledum and Tweedledumber—food's here!" Dean yelled as they heard him kick the door shut behind him. "Come get your shit off the table so we can eat, Aubrey!"

"Coming!" Aubrey hollered over her shoulder, her blue eyes never leaving her brother's identical gaze as she stared back at him. "Are you gonna eat first?"

"I guess I'd better—otherwise, D is gonna start asking questions," Braden said with a sigh, following her to the small kitchen where Dean was standing at the counter doling out the pizza onto three plates, looking none the worse for wear after last night's blow to the head.

"Did Dad call while I was out?" Dean asked as he tossed the now empty pizza box vaguely in the direction of the trashcan while Aubrey gathered up her books and shoved them into her book-bag. Braden picked up the plates and set them on the table as Dean grabbed drinks from the fridge, a beer for himself and a soft drink each for her and Braden.

"Nope," Aubrey said, slinging her bag into the tiny living room and sat down at the table. "Is he gonna make it home by Saturday, you think?"

"Hard to say—it's a spirit, but I think they were running into some problems finding the bones."

"Oh."

It always unsettled her when their dad was gone. She'd never really gotten over the fear that if he was somehow out of her sight, he could disappear and never come back. _Like Mama._ She didn't exactly sleep well, either, when he was gone. For that matter, it unsettled her when _anyone_ was gone. And it had only gotten worse when Sam left. Which was why Aubrey still didn't go places alone, why she had all the same classes at school as her brother, and why she still shared a room with him, even though their dad had offered her a room of her own.

_Glad it doesn't bother Bray…then again, not much does,_ she thought, thankful not for the first time that she had a twin as easy-going as Braden_._

"Look, why don't you go give him a call?" Dean offered, breaking her out of her train of thought. "He and Joshua probably haven't left for the night yet," Dean offered, shifting to pull his phone out of his back pocket. With a smile, she took the proffered cell phone, pulled up her dad's number, and hit Send.

_Please pick up, Daddy. Please._

"_Yeah?"_ The familiar Winchester way of answering the phone filled her ear, and she grinned happily, relaxing back into her chair as her brothers started to eat.

"Hey, Daddy, it's me, Aubrey."

"_Sweetheart, you're the only daughter I've got—you don't have to ID yourself when you call and refer to me as 'Daddy.' I can figure it out."_

"Sorry," she said with a chuckle. "So are you and Joshua almost finished?"

"_Not quite, Aub. We can't find the damn body anywhere—we're looking for a fuckin' unmarked grave in the middle of a field full of unmarked graves."_

"Oh. Well, I'll pray extra hard that you find it soon, then."

"_Yeah, you do that. I'll take what I can get at this point."_

"You think you'll find it by Saturday?"

"_I don't know, baby—it's kinda hard to predict this sort of thing."_

"Yeah."

"_Got your note,"_ he said, a smile in his voice as he continued. _"And yeah, you're right—wendigos _are_ fugly, and we _are_ lucky that they're fast enough that we don't have to see their 'fugliness.'"_

She laughed, glad he'd found it. She'd been doing it since she was nine, leaving sticky notes scattered throughout his journal with random comments written on them about whatever was on a given page. All except the beginning, which was off limits, she knew.

"Glad you liked it," she told him. "Daddy?"

"_Yeah?"_

"Can you try and hurry back?" she asked, wishing she wasn't so needy, because she knew it frustrated him and that he was never one to waste time on a hunt, but well… she was scared without him.

"_Baby, Dean's there to keep you safe—he won't let anything happen to you while I'm gone."_

"I know," she mumbled, "But I just…" _I worry when I can't see you._

"_I'll do my best,"_ he told her when she faltered, and she found herself already praying for his swift return.

"'kay."

"_Listen, I've gotta run—we're heading out to see if we can dig up some more information."_

"No pun intended, right?" she asked with a smile.

"_Smart-ass,"_ he said with a chuckle.

"Bye, Daddy—love you."

"_Yeah, me, too,"_ he said gruffly, and she smiled as he hung up, enjoying how flustered he always got when she pushed a 'chick-flicky' moment on him. _Just like Dean_, she thought with a chuckle as she slid the phone back to Dean and tucked into her pizza, feeling just a tad bit better.

* * *

Having consumed her share of the pizza, Aubrey sat back with a content smile, feeling that completely fat, dumb, and happy sensation that one gets after eating a filling meal. And judging by the look on Dean's face as he swallowed back a belch, he was feeling the same way, she thought with a smirk.

_Nice of him to hold back,_ she thought, because normally, he didn't bother.

"Braden, what the hell's wrong with you?" Dean said suddenly, looking at Braden with a narrow gaze. Aubrey's own gaze shot to Braden to see him sitting in a stupor, staring blankly into space, his pizza abandoned on his plate. When Braden didn't respond, Dean set his beer down and reached out, dropping his hand onto Braden's shoulder. But Braden still didn't stir, and that quickly, Aubrey understood.

"He's asleep, D."

"When did that happen? He was fine a second ago—damn, I hate when he falls asleep with his eyes open—that shit's freaky as hell," Dean grumbled as he stood and moved around to Braden's side of the table. "Aub, go ahead of me and turn down the sheets, would ya'?"

"'kay," she said, leaving Dean to get Braden moving as she walked to their bedroom. Yanking the sheet and the blanket on Braden's bed down, she frowned, biting her lip nervously.

_Maybe I should tell Dean that he hasn't been sleeping well… Bray told me to keep my mouth shut, but—_

Just then, Dean came in, gently pushing Braden ahead of him, and from the disconnected way Braden was moving, Aubrey knew he wasn't really awake. He always looked spaced out when he was sleepwalking, she knew, watching as Dean steered Braden into bed, pulling the sheet and the comforter up and tucking them around Braden's shoulders before turning to Aubrey.

"Don't forget to put something heavy on top of that damn hamster cage before you go to bed," he told her, casting a dark look at Lucy's cage before ruffling her hair and starting past her.

"Scared she'll get out again?" she asked gleefully, remembering that night a few months back when their latest hamster had skillfully escaped her cage during the night. The discovery of the empty cage had sent Dean on a rampage the likes of which hadn't been seen since Aubrey had let Boo loose in the motel living room once years ago. He'd torn the place apart with his pistol in hand, convinced that Lucy was lurking somewhere, just waiting to get at him. And while it had been entertaining, their dad had finally put a stop to it, ordering him to leave while Aubrey and Braden searched for her. _And it was a good thing, too—she was nestled in Dean's duffel, happily nibbling on his beef jerky. But he doesn't know that._ _At least she didn't get his M&Ms, because Dean would have figured it out for sure. _ Their dad had made them swear not to tell, but that 'great escape' was the closest Dean had come to following through on his threats to kill one of their hamsters, and Aubrey figured it was best not to push it. Dean had been amusingly more paranoid since then, so in the interest of keeping her hamster alive and well, Aubrey humored him.

"We're not gonna talk about that," he told her, pointing his finger at her sternly. "It's a fuckin' rodent, Aubrey—if it gets out, it's gonna go have creepy rodent sex with some giant rat and we're gonna have baby mutant rat-rodents coming out of the damn walls—_hell _no. Now you do what I told you and you make sure it can't get out."

"Okay, D," she said, taking pity on him and letting it go. Poor Dean had really thought he was free of hamsters when Boo had died just after Braden and Aubrey turned ten. But she'd been so upset that Daddy had taken pity on her and bought her a new one, much to Dean's dismay. And she'd had one ever since. Lucy wasn't Boo any more than Bubbles had been, but somehow, having a hamster was the last bit of normalcy that Aubrey had, the only tie to their old life, and Aubrey clung to it tenaciously.

Dean shut the door behind him with a nod, and as Aubrey grabbed a stack of Braden's sketchbooks to place on the top of Lucy's cage, she was already thinking about what to wear to Lyssa Martin's party.

_Braden will come through—I know it._

* * *

A/N: Okay, there you have it, folks. I'd love to hear what you all thought of it! Thanks for the reviews from last chapter!

**I'mcalledZorro**: I hope I lived up to your expectations for the shift. It was a bit plot-less, but as always, I have to build up to it! Thanks for reviewing!

**Dagana**: I'm really glad to hear that you liked the Barbie scene between Aubrey and Dean—it's only thanks to Paper Roses and Candy Kisses that the scene developed, because she mentioned how fun it would be to have a Dean-Aubrey Barbie scene. As for Braden, look for more cryptic conversations in the upcoming chapters! Thanks for sending such a nice review!

**Jenmm31**: I'm glad I decided to develop the Barbie scene for Dean and Aubrey—it seems to be popular with everyone for its cuteness! You'll have to let me know if Chapter 22 remains your favorite chapter when all is said and done! Thanks for reviewing!

**june08**: Thanks for reviewing—hope the wait for this chapter wasn't too long!

**PRACK**: Why, yes, I do get a kick outta making you cry—heehee! Thanks for the advice on the nicknames and such—looking forward to your next chapter!

**zuimar**: Hope this was another good start for your weekend! How did I do on the bond between Aubrey and Dean? I guess it wasn't really front-and-center in this chapter, or anything, but I like to think it's still there. I didn't want it to be overpowering, because the twins can't really replace Sam for Dean. But hopefully, I did okay with it. Thanks for reviewing!

**nightingale**: Thanks so much for mentioning how much you liked the John and Aubrey moment—most of the feedback I got was centered on Dean and Aubrey's Barbie scene, so the father-daughter moment got sort of lost. I managed to tie in the hamster bit for you—it's not Boo, but Lucy will suffice, I suppose. I don't know how much longer I can manage to tie those scenes in, but I'll do what I can! Thanks also for your patience—I like longer chapters, too! I always feel cheated when I get an update in my inbox and open it up only to find that it's only a page or two. Haha! Anyways, thanks for the review!

**SnapeGIRL1234**: Aww, I'm so glad that you love it! Funny you should mention that your brothers told you Barbie was using Ken—I always thought it was the other way around, you know, Barbie was making all the money somehow and Ken was just living it up in Barbie's big, pink Dream House. LOL! Anyways, thanks for sending a review—I appreciate it!


	24. Dwell Not Upon Thy Weariness

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: This chapter was supposed to be relatively easy, but it turned into a massive ordeal, which took me way longer than I thought it would to write. It took awhile to get things to work out the way I wanted, so I'm sorry for the long wait. Hope it proves worthwhile. The title is courtesy of an Arab proverb: "Dwell not upon thy weariness, thy strength shall be according to the measure of thy desire." Thanks as always to my betas (mimishell and CagedTroll), and also to Paper Roses and Candy Kisses for being the deciding vote when my betas disagree—love you guys!

A/N 2: BTW, I found it necessary to change the Winchesters' home base from a motel to an apartment—I decided that it was not only more practical for them but also practical for the purpose of the story. But I don't suppose anyone cares, so on with the story.

Chapter 24—Dwell Not Upon Thy Weariness

A muffled thump brought Dean out of a relatively deep sleep, and Dean didn't even have to glance at the clock to know that it was still way too early for anyone to be stirring. Grabbing the knife from under his pillow on the off chance that it wasn't what he suspected, Dean slid out of bed soundlessly, easing the well-oiled door of his room open and making his way toward the kitchenette.

_Shit, not again._ With a muttered curse, Dean set the knife down on the table, rubbing his eyes wearily. _I'm so fucking tired, I can't see straight, and this is getting pretty damn old_, he thought irritably, his gaze narrowed on his youngest brother. Braden was on his knees in the middle of the cold linoleum, a black Sharpie in his right hand as he slowly spun on the floor, drawing a large dark circle that Dean knew was the start of some sort of protective ward or devil's trap.

_Six years and that shit's still as freaky as it was when we first got 'em. _He watched Braden drowsily begin to fill in the sigils in the top-left quadrant, happy to see the vague, distant expression on his brother's face rather than the creepy, intensely focused one that he sometimes had. Intense focus was bad, Dean knew, because it meant that Braden would resist Dean's interference.

_Nope, drowsy is definitely better—he'll go back to bed, which means I have a chance at getting some sleep._

As he walked forward, his eyes honed in on the black Sharpie, cursing its creator even as he wondered where the hell Braden kept finding the damn things.

_I've searched this place up and down and thrown every last one of them in the dumpster out back—so how the fuck does he keep showing up with a new one almost every night? They're a bitch to clean up._

"Bray—c'mon, dude, go back to bed," Dean told him, moving forward and laying a restraining hand on Braden's shoulder.

"Not finished," Braden mumbled, staring down at the half-drawn image with a distant frown, the marker poised over the northern-most point of the drawing.

"Yeah, you are, little brother. Time to get back in bed," Dean retorted, reaching down and plucking the marker out of his hand, frowning down at it as he tucked it into his waistband, fully intending to completely obliterate the stupid thing as soon as he got the chance. He lifted Braden to his feet, maneuvering the unresisting teenager back towards the room he shared with Aubrey, wishing not for the first time that Braden would hurry up and grow out of the whole sleep-walking thing.

Not to mention it was getting a little out of control, he decided as he gently pushed Braden into his bed, waiting for the drowsy fourteen-year-old to turn over before pulling the covers up around his shoulders.

"Stay in bed, Bray—I mean it," he said sternly, even as he told himself that it was stupid to hope that Braden would actually do so. _I mean, sure, there's hope, but I'm not holding my breath for it to actually happen. _

"'kay, D," Braden mumbled, his eyes slipping closed, and Dean watched him for a long moment, waiting for any sign that Braden might get right back up again, only to sigh in relief when Braden settled onto his side, a mirror opposite of Aubrey in the other bed. That was a good sign, he knew, 'cause it usually meant Bray was down for the count. He cast a quick look at the hamster cage on top of the dresser across the room to make certain the little rodent inside where it belonged, suppressing a shudder at the sight of its beady little eyes staring back at him alertly.

_Creepy-ass rodent. Why don't you just die already?_

He turned away, about to leave the room when he heard the rustle of sheets as someone moved.

"Bray, I swear, if you're up again, I'm gonna—"

"'m sorry, Dean," Aubrey whispered into the darkness. "I didn't hear him get up this time."

_Probably 'cause you're about as damn tired as I am._ Aubrey wasn't exactly a light sleeper, but she usually _did_ know whenever Braden stirred, and if it was anywhere as often as Dean had been up, he knew Aubrey hadn't been getting much more sleep than the rest of them.

"Don't worry about it—go back to sleep," he told her, leaning over to ruffle her hair as he grabbed hold of the comforter that she'd kicked off the bed at some point, making quick work of settling it back around her shoulders before he turned to leave.

"It's getting worse, isn't it?" she murmured, and Dean paused, not wanting to acknowledge that he was starting to worry.

"Go to sleep, Aub" he told her once more, leaving the door open a bit as he went back to the kitchen to retrieve his knife.

* * *

"_What?"_

Dean could only wince when the sharp tone of John Winchester's voice echoed through the phone, a sure sign that his dad was not in the most receptive of moods.

"Dad?"

"_Dean, it's 6:30 in the fucking morning, and I've been out hunting all night—what could possibly be so damn important that it couldn't wait a few hours?"_

"You know what? Just forget it—I shouldn't have called."

"Wish you had figured that out _before_ you called."

And that quickly, the stress and the weariness that had been building for the last couple of weeks could no longer be contained, and all of the anger that he'd been sitting on began to leak out.

"Well maybe if you'd come home every once in awhile, I wouldn't _have_ to call you at 6:30 in the fucking morning," Dean told him hotly, knowing even as he said it that he never should have called, not when he was this close to the breaking point. His control had been shit lately, especially with Dad.

_Ever since Sa—no, don't think about that. Better to be pissed off and yelling at Dad than to feel that torn-up-on-the-inside feeling. Run with it, Dean._

"I've been stuck here," he continued, "and you haven't even bothered to call, not once, to check in, or hell, even to let us know you're not dead in a fucking ditch somewhere. But you know what, Dad? Nevermind. It's fine. You go back to sleep, and I'll do what I always do and take care of everything myself," Dean said, fighting the urge to hurl the cell phone at the wall after he snapped it shut.

_Fuck, Dad, why do you hafta make everything so damn hard all the time? _

The phone rang a second later, and he briefly considered letting it ring, but he knew well enough that John Winchester was not a man who would be ignored.

"Yeah?"

"_How about you try that again, this time without the attitude."_ It wasn't a question. _Shit._

"I can't do this now, Dad," Dean told him softly, his words low and tight as he told the older man what he _should_ have told him the first time around. "I'm tired, and I never should have called."

"_Tell me what the problem is, son,"_ John said quietly, his voice softening slightly, as though he sensed how close to the edge Dean actually was.

"Dad…I'm…fuck, Dad, I'm tired. Braden isn't sleeping. He's tryin' to hide it, but I don't think he's sleeping more than a few hours every night. And when he does sleep, he ends up sleepwalking before the night's out. And you know how he is, Dad—if he manages to get outside, he'd walk into the fucking street without even realizing it! I've been up almost every night for the past two weeks, and I just need some damn sleep already!"

On the other end, John was quiet for a long moment before he sighed and finally spoke.

"_I'll see if I can hurry this up. I'll try to be home by Friday."_

"Okay."

_I wish I could believe that. _But ever since Sammy had left, his faith in his father had been badly shaken, and Dean wasn't sure that anything short of his dad getting Sammy back would change that.

* * *

"You're up early."

Dean looked up from his breakfast to see Braden looking back at him with a mildly concerned look.

"Uh, yeah. I had to make a phone call."

He didn't mention that worry had been eating at him enough since Braden's 3 AM venture into the kitchen that sleep had become an impossibility. Which was why there was no longer any trace of a ward on the kitchen linoleum.

"Who were you on the phone with?"

"Dad."

"Oh, what did he want?"

"Uh, just lettin' me know he's gonna try to be home by Friday."

"Oh." And the way that he paused just then was enough to set off Dean's internal oh-shit-what-now meter as Braden cast a sideways look at him, a look that Dean knew could not lead to anything pleasant.

"D, can I talk to you?"

_Ah, shit. _

"Bray, don't do this to me today. I'm too tired for a chick-flick moment," he complained, shoving his eggs around on his plate as though they held the secret of salvation. "'sides, I've already filled my chick-flick moment quota for this month—sorry, looks like you're gonna have to wait until next month. I'll check my schedule and get back to you."

"Nah, it's not like that," Braden said easily, smiling back at him. "Really, it's not a big deal—I just gotta ask you something."

"I've already given you the basics about sex, Braden, and as much as I love that sort of thing, it's not something I really want to explain to my baby brother again. Especially in the morning. Without a lot of alcohol in my system. It was awkward enough the first time I had to explain it."

"Dean! C'mon, man!" Braden groaned, rolling his eyes as he waited impatiently for his older brother to get the sarcasm and the smart-ass remarks out of his system.

"Alright, alright," Dean said, deciding to cut his little brother some slack. _Just this once._ "But it better not be an awkward-as-hell sex question," he added with a grin, knowing that out of the two younger Winchesters, it was _Aubrey _who was more likely to get flustered at the word 'sex,' not Braden. But he never could resist trying to get a rise out of Braden anyway.

"It doesn't, I swear," Braden told him, and Dean sighed, disappointed when Braden failed to rise to the bait. _Kid never gets flustered, dammit—what's the fun in that?_

"Fine. So what do you want?"

"There's this party on Friday night," Braden replied, never one to beat around the bush, "and Aubrey really wants to go."

"Whose party?"

"Lyssa Martin's."

"Her parents gonna be there?"

"I dunno for sure."

"Well take a guess," Dean told him, raising an eyebrow as he looked across the kitchen table at his younger brother.

"Well, if I had to guess, I'd say they're probably gonna take off shortly after everyone gets there."

"There gonna be alcohol?"

"More than likely."

Dean was well aware that Braden was never one to mince words, and the younger boy had always been as shockingly blunt as their father, but it nevertheless caught Dean by surprise when Braden told him the absolute truth at that moment.

"So, you're telling me that everyone's gonna be drinking at this party, and there won't be any supervision—did I get that right?"

"Yeah."

"So with all that in mind, why the hell did you bother asking?" Dean asked, positively curious as to what had convinced his brother to be honest with him.

"Because Aubrey and I supervise ourselves just fine, we don't drink, and because we hardly ever ask to go to parties and shit. And because, for some stupid, unfathomable reason, Aubrey really wants to go. It means a lot to her."

_Yeah, Braden, why don't you go right for my jugular while you're at it_, Dean thought snarkily as he felt a familiar sense of guilt well up.

_It always comes back to that, doesn't it, that fucking desire to be normal? Why can't Aubrey be happy with the way things are? I mean, what's the big deal about being like everybody else?_

But having witnessed firsthand what could happen if someone was forcibly cut off from what constituted 'normal,' Dean was loathe to deny the twins a chance to experience a night of being normal teenagers. But still…

_Dad would tear me a new one if I let them go to a party with alcohol and no supervision. This is such a bad idea. _

"Please, D—you can trust us. We won't touch a drop of the beer, I swear, and you know I'll look out for Aubrey," Braden said earnestly. "And if it gets crazy, or anything, we'll call you to come get us."

_Fuck. How do I argue with logic like that? Because damn if he's not telling the truth…Shit. I know I'm gonna regret this…_

"Alright, Bray. But you keep your knife on you and the cell phone on at all times, and you stay alert."

"I will," Braden told him with a sincere nod.

"And the normal curfew still stands, bro—you and Aub have to be waiting at the curb for me at exactly 11:30, or I will kick your ass. Seriously. No excuses, dude."

"We will, I swear."

"Good. Now please tell me that's all so I can go back to my breakfast," Dean said, staring down at the eggs and bacon on his plate that were quickly growing cold.

"Yeah, that's all," Braden told him, grinning as he reached into the cabinet and pulled down two cereal bowls.

"There's food on the stove," Dean said as Braden grabbed the box of Lucky Charms and began opening it.

"Nah, me and Aubby want cereal today."

"She tell you that?"

"No, I just know."

"That twin-shit you guys do is freaky as hell—you know that, right?"

"Yeah," Braden laughed, turning his back as he pulled milk out of the fridge to pour over the cereal. "Aubrey, hurry up!"

"Hey, uh, Braden?"

"Yeah?"

"Listen…" _I can't believe I'm doing this. _"Are you…you know, okay?"

"What are you talking about?" Braden asked, giving him a look of confusion.

"C'mon, Bray—quit shittin' me. You're not sleeping right. Now what's up with you?"

"It's nothin'," Braden said, turning his back to Dean with a half-hearted shrug.

"Yeah? If it's nothing, then how come most nights, you're awake or sleepwalking more than you're actually sleeping?"

"I'm fine, D."

_That Winchester family motto sure comes back to bite us all in the ass. All the freakin' time. Guess little brother has learned well._

Dean wasn't much for sharing and caring, touchy-feely bullshit, but he wasn't one to watch his siblings sit on their problems and be miserable either, not when talking could help. So if a few minutes of awkwardness was the cost of making things better for his family, it was a price Dean was more than willing to pay. But not without bitching about it.

"You know that even though I hate chick-flick moments that you can come talk to me, right?" Dean asked, feeling nine kinds of stupid as he did it, but feeling like he needed to say it nevertheless.

"Yeah, I know," Braden said softly. "I just…I don't know what to tell you—I haven't really figured it out yet."

"You'll come to me when you figure it out."

"Yeah." And he would, Dean knew.

"Alright, well, listen—try not to fall asleep at school, okay? I don't want any more phone calls from teachers saying you're sleeping during their classes."

"I don't see what the big deal is," Braden told him with a nonchalant shrug. "I mean, I'm makin' good grades, so who the hell cares?"

"The big deal is that it pisses them off—so stay awake. You can crash when you get home."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he retorted, grumbling good-naturedly.

Aubrey rushed in a second later, grabbing the second bowl of Lucky Charms and sitting down at the table with a smile. The remainder of breakfast went by relatively quickly and then the twins were out the door, off to catch the bus in a flurry of backpacks and coats, leaving Dean to sigh in relief at the quiet that swept over the place. He wanted nothing more than to go back to bed, but unfortunately, his boss wouldn't look too kindly on that, and they couldn't afford for Dean to lose his job. Anytime they settled in a town with the intention of staying longer than a few weeks, Dean and/or their father would find at least a semi-legitimate job to bring in some income, and it just happened to be Dean's turn.

_Seems like it's always my turn these days,_ he thought as he grudgingly got up from the table, leaving the dishes for later as he went to shower and dress. _At least I'm only scheduled to handle a routine oil change and tire rotation this morning,_ he thought, trying to at least pretend he wasn't exhausted and feeling every bit of his twenty-four years. _Ah, who the hell am I kidding? I'm fucking tired and I don't wanna go in to the shop today._

It wasn't that the car maintenance shop he worked at Monday through Friday was all that bad—it was a piece of cake for Dean, and normally, he found it pretty damn relaxing to work under the hood of a car, or hell, even underneath the car. But today, it just seemed like a chore, and he was sorely tempted to just call in sick. But even as he thought about it, he knew they needed the money. _Hustling only brings in so much, and in a town this small, there aren't enough bars to do it effectively anyway. Damn, this sucks out loud. Next time, Dad can stay here and find a job instead._

Truth was, though, Dean didn't really mind staying home with his brother and sister, and for the most part, he didn't resent being asked to stay behind with Braden and Aubrey. _Not that Dad really asks anymore. _But still, he was mostly okay with it. The only drawback was the gut-wrenching worry he felt whenever his dad was hunting without him to watch his back.

More than anything, though, Dean really just wished that they were all together again—his dad, the twins, him…and Sammy. It had hurt him more than he cared to admit when Sammy had left them. And as hurt as the twins were—well, _Aubrey_, because Braden wasn't exactly obvious when it came to his feelings—they'd tried to make up for Sam's absence.

_But they can't._

He knew his dad had worried about him in those first weeks after Sam walked out the door, when Dean had fallen back into that well of silence that seemed to swallow him up. But Dean had managed to resume the mask that had become such a familiar part of him, a part that hid all of those nasty emotions from the world. And if he still wasn't as talkative as he used to be, his dad was at least satisfied, he knew, and that's all that really mattered.

Unlike their dad, though, Aubrey and Braden seemed to intuitively know that Dean still hadn't gotten over Sammy's absence. And while they tried to make him feel better by sticking close, it just wasn't the same. Just the same, he relished the time with them because then, he wasn't alone.

_I'm turning into a fucking girl_, he thought disdainfully as he grabbed his coat and headed out the door with a shake of his head. _It's never good for a man to dwell on emotional bullshit, never good. Because nothing good ever comes of it. Think about cars, Dean. Think about oil changes and tire rotations, hot chicks… and sleep. Yeah, that's better. Now, just gotta make it through the day, make it through today, and then Dad'll be home soon, and I can get some fucking sleep already. Just one day. Yeah, I can do that._

* * *

The routine oil change and tire rotation had ended up being only the first in a long list of jobs Dean had found waiting for him when he got to work, and it had been one helluva long-ass day. So by the time he clocked out, he was bone tired. He swung by a local Chinese take-out place that offered a good deal on Thursday nights before heading back home where the twins were waiting. Apparently, he wasn't able to hide his exhaustion from them, because they handled the clean-up without a word of complaint while Dean settled on the couch with a beer, trying to stay awake until at least nine, because going to bed any earlier was just sad.

"D?" Aubrey asked, coming in and settling on the couch beside him, drawing her knees up as she nestled against his side and dropped her head on his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Yeah, right," Aubrey told him, lifting her head to aim a raised eyebrow and a skeptical expression at him.

"Just tired is all," he told her with a half-hearted smirk.

"Yeah, me too," she murmured, dropping her head back down. "So whatcha watchin'?" she asked, changing the subject smoothly as Braden walked in and dropped onto the other end of the couch beside her.

"Miss America—check this shit out," Dean answered with a sly grin.

"Uh, D—I thought only girls watched the Miss America pageant," Aubrey said, gazing skeptically at the scene.

"Are you kidding me? They're parading around in next to nothing—how can this be a show for chicks? Nah, Aub, this is totally a guy's paradise. It's like the _Victoria Secret_ catalog coming to life right before my eyes—it can't get much better than that. _Unless it's porn,_ he added silently, grinning to himself. "Ooh, nice," he murmured appreciatively as he gestured at the screen where Miss Tennessee was casting a smile at the judges.

"Eh. She looks stuck up to me," Aubrey said, eyeing the girl with a critical gaze.

"Who the hell cares? She's hot…" he said, trailing off as the next chick came on the screen. "But _not_ as hot as Miss Georgia," he said, eyeing the young lady in question with an admiring gaze. "Damn," he whistled, taking another swig of beer.

"Oh, well, she looks nice enough, I guess," Aubrey replied graciously, leaving Dean to just shake his head at his little sister. "I like her hair," she went on to say, picking up a lock of her own hair and casting an annoyed look at it before allowing it to fall back to her shoulder.

"Hey, Bray, swimsuit competition is up next," he said, looking over the top of Aubrey's head where Braden was slumped against the cushions. When Braden only made a token grunt in response, he frowned, his gaze sharpening on his younger brother. "What's wrong?"

"Don't feel good," Braden mumbled, staring back at Dean with flushed cheeks and dull eyes. Aubrey lifted her head, allowing Dean to reach over and check Braden's temperature with the back of his hand. Braden tried to duck away, but Dean was ready for such a move and grabbed the sleeve of the fourteen-year-old's sweatshirt, pulling him closer and pressing the back of his hand against Braden's forehead.

"Quit it, D," Braden said, once again pushing at Dean's hand.

"You're runnin' a bit hot—you feel like you're gonna throw up or anything?"

"No. Just a headache. 'm fine."

"C'mon, bro," Dean said, standing up and pulling Braden to his feet.

"What?"

"You need to get some sleep—that's probably why you feel like shit."

" 's only eight o'clock—only pansies go to bed this early," Braden grumbled, even as he let Dean lead him to the twins' bedroom. He dropped onto the bed, staring into space with unseeing eyes. Knowing that Braden was going to be little-to-no help whatsoever, Dean sighed and reached down to pull Braden's shoes off, dropping them at the foot of the bed, before wrestling Braden's jeans and long-sleeve t-shirt off, leaving the semi-conscious fourteen-year-old clad in his boxers and white t-shirt.

"Get some sleep, little brother," Dean said softly, easing the covers over him and flipping the light off.

_Please._

* * *

It was another long night. Actually, it was much like the previous night, with the only exception being that Braden decided to sleepwalk his way into the bathroom with another contraband Sharpie. Well, that and the fact that he didn't appreciate Dean stopping him this go round.

_I'm so gonna find out where he's buying those fucking Sharpies, and I'm gonna burn the place to the ground. _

Too tired to clean up the latest in Braden's floor-drawings—a trap or something that Dean had never even seen before—he'd wrestled Braden back to bed, staying up another half-hour before he was assured that Braden was out for the night. He'd fallen back into his own bed at a quarter past three, and had slept, albeit lightly until his cell phone alarm woke him up at seven.

_Guess it worked out for the best, though—I was trapped in doodle hell,_ he thought, shaking his head a little to clear it of the nightmare images of doodled symbols and signs coming to life and giant Sharpies out to get him. _Fucking Sharpies, man. I hate Sharpies._

He pulled himself out of bed and went to peek in on the twins, hardly surprised when Braden turned his face to look at him, obviously having been wide awake for some time.

"How long you been awake?"

"I dunno. Awhile."

Stepping into the room with a yawn, Dean reached out and laid a hand on Braden's forehead, frowning at the warmth emanating from the boy.

"Shit, Bray—I think maybe you need to stay home today."

"Nah, I'll be fine."

_Why do I get the feeling this is more about you pretending to be okay so that I don't make you skip that stupid party?_

"You'll have the nurse call me if you don't feel any better?"

"Yeah, sure."

_Uh-huh. Right. I believe you completely. Seriously, do I have 'stupid' written on my forehead or something?_

"Braden, I mean it."

"Dude, I got it," Braden told him, the first hint of exasperation leaking into his voice as he slid out of bed to go shower.

_Please don't let this be the start of a long-ass day. Seriously. I'm reaching the end of my fuckin' rope here, and I don't know how much more I can take._

* * *

Dean kept his cell phone close during the day, waiting for a call that he knew damn well wasn't gonna come. While Braden had missed out on the hotheadedness that characterized the Winchester family, he had the stubbornness that seemed to be a part of their genetic make-up in spades. So even though he was keeping his cell close, he didn't expect it to ring, not really.

By the time Dean got home from work, Braden was dozing on the couch while Aubrey fixed dinner.

"What's for dinner?"

"Spaghetti and meatballs, garlic bread, salad—the usual."

"Awesome," Dean said with a smile, his mouth watering at the smells already wafting from the small kitchen. And it would be, he knew, because even though Aubrey didn't care much for cooking, she did a damn good job at it. Which was ironic, since Braden actually thought cooking was fun but managed to burn the food nine times out of ten. "How's Bray?"

"I dunno. He hasn't said anything, but I think he still feels pretty crappy." Walking over to the couch, Dean laid the back of his hand against Braden's cheek, hardly surprised that he was still warm. _Damn. I was hopin' he'd feel better so he could help me tackle cleaning up that whatever-the-hell-it-is that he drew in the bathroom. _"Did he manage to stay awake in class?"

"No. But he's getting better at hiding it when he _does_ fall asleep," she offered optimistically.

"Great," Dean mumbled.

"You still gonna let us go to the party?" she asked over her shoulder, as though not looking at him could keep him from knowing that she was trying desperately to hide how much it meant to her to go.

"We'll see how Braden's feeling after dinner, alright?"

"Okay," she whispered.

"I'm gonna go take a quick shower, and then we can eat—will it be ready by then?"

"Yeah, should be."

The shower did nothing to alleviate the tension in his shoulders or the exhaustion pulling at him, so he didn't linger, pulling on a pair of clean blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and a dark gray Henley before going back into the kitchen. He arrived just in time to grab the plates, silverware, and napkins while Aubrey set the food out on the table.

"You think I should let him sleep?" she asked him, eyeing Braden worriedly over her shoulder before turning back to Dean questioningly.

"How long's he been out?"

"Since we got home from school."

"Shit. Aub…maybe you two should just—"

"'m fine," Braden said hoarsely, appearing behind Dean with a bleary look in his eyes as he walked in and sat down at the table.

"Bray, you're running a fever, dude—I'm thinking you just need to stay here, try and get some more sleep. There'll be other parties."

"Yeah, but none we'd be invited to," Braden said decisively. "Look, we've just got to put in an appearance—we don't have to stay, but if we don't go at all, we won't get another chance. You turn down one of _this_ chick's parties, and you don't get asked again. I'll be fine."

"I'll make you a deal," Dean told him, having that same bad feeling in his gut that he'd had when he'd agreed to let them go to the damn party in the first place. "So long as your fever is below 100, I'll let you go."

_Considering how shitty he looks, I should win this hands-down._

But of course, the Winchester luck rang true as always, and Braden's temperature was holding steady at 99.6. So precisely at 8:45, the twins looked at Dean expectantly, and with a sigh, he went to grab his keys and his jacket.

He pulled up outside of Lyssa Martin's less-than-humble, huge-ass abode with that bad feeling growing stronger and stronger. So as he put the car into Park, he turned to the twins with a stern gaze.

"Have you two decided who's hanging onto the phone tonight?" he asked, referring to the cell phone that they shared.

"Aubby has it," Braden replied as he reached for the door handle.

"I'm not finished," Dean told him, making his brother pause with a sigh. "Listen, you stay sharp, don't do anything stupid, and if things start getting out of control, you call me. I'm not fucking kidding you—if the cops get called, these other kids will get a slap on the wrist before their rich-as-hell parents show up to bail them out, but you guys could get taken away by CPS. If the cops do show up, you guys get the hell outta there, get somewhere safe and public, and you call me."

"Where are you gonna be?" Aubrey asked as Braden slid out of the car and held the seat up for her to climb out.

"Ah, I dunno, I'll probably hit a bar somewhere in town, have a few drinks, maybe pick up a hot chick," he said with a grin.

'_Cause hell, it's not like I can go home and sleep. _Sleeping was out of the question, until both the twins were home. _Course, even then, I'm not guaranteed a full night's sleep, not with Braden's nocturnal wanderings here lately. I mean, let's face it—the odds of Dad getting home in time to take over night-time watchdog duties are slim to none. _

By 9 PM, Dean was sitting at the bar of a slightly-nicer-than-his-usual hangout, and he was staring at the amber liquid in his glass, wishing he could get totally blitzed, but knowing well enough that he couldn't afford to get drunk off his ass when he was going to have to pick up the twins in a couple of hours. By 9:15, he was ready to leave, too tired to keep up pretenses in front of the bar's other patrons. Ever since Sammy had left, it was just too damn hard to be around people for any given amount of time. It just took too much energy to act like things were great when they weren't.

_Time heals all wounds, my ass. It's been two fucking years, and instead of getting better, it only seems to get worse. _

Two minutes, another drink, and a handful of peanuts later, he left.

He stopped off at a gas station for a six-pack, a bottle of Jack, and his usual staples of M&Ms and beef jerky before heading back to the apartment, growing more and more morose by the minute. By 9:45, he had switched to the Jack Daniels, having decided to skip the beer entirely as he half-watched a football game, his eyes staring unseeing at the TV screen as he began to reconsider his decision to come home.

_Shoulda just stayed at the bar._

Because now he was alone, alone with all of the regrets and the aching loneliness that had become a part of him since Sam left. And as much as he tried to hide it, it was there in his eyes, he knew, because hiding it had become too damn hard. And that right there was one huge reason why he knew his dad was so eager to leave.

_Maybe he blames me for what happened. Maybe it _is_ my fault…ah, damn, I'm not drunk enough to do this whole 'crying into my beer' shit. Fuck, no. Man, I'm turning into a fucking lightweight. _

By 10:30, he was a third of the way into the bottle and feeling pretty damn moody. Glancing down at the table, he considered the six-pack, frowning when he realized he was probably close to his drinking limit. _If I'm gonna pick up the twins, I gotta lay off. _

_Ah, shit, what am I doing? I gotta pick the twins up in an hour. I can't afford to get hammered. Maybe after they come home…no. Dad would kick my ass if he came home to find me wasted, even if the twins were safe in bed. That's a fucking double standard—he used to be wasted all the time when me and Sammy were kids, younger than the twins are now. How is that fair? Hell, if I leave now, I can pick up where I left off after the twins are in bed, can keep the buzz I'm building up… 's not like Dad will make it home anyway…I just wanna stop thinking, just for a little while. _

_What the fuck is wrong with me? Tonight isn't any different than any other night—why the hell am I havin' such a hard time? Drowning your sorrows in alcohol, Dean? Suck it up and act like a man._

He had just decided against drinking anymore and was just reaching for the remote when the sound of the doorknob jiggling had him shifting to grab the pistol from the table beside him. As the door was shoved inward, Dean stood, weaving a bit as he brought his arm up to aim the gun.

"It's me."

_Well, I'll be damned. The old man made it home today after all._

"You alright?" Dean asked him, lowering his arm and setting the gun back down on the table with a dull thunk.

"Yeah, all in one piece," John replied, dropping his duffel and shoving the door shut with his foot as he gave Dean a half-smile. "The twins already in bed?"

"Nah. Party."

"Are the parents there?"

"Probably not," Dean told him, recalling Braden's words from the previous day.

"What the hell, Dean? They're fourteen—you can't let them do shit like that," John told him exasperatedly.

"You left 'em with me—I made a judgment call. You either trust me with 'em or you don't, Dad. Which is it?"

"Dean, you know I trust you—"

"Do you? Do you really?" Dean asked him, his eyes fixed on his father's face as he fought to stay steady on his feet. John opened his mouth to answer only to pause, his eyes narrowing as he stared back at Dean with growing suspicion on his face.

"Are you drunk?"

"No."

"No?"

"No, sir," Dean corrected, gritting his teeth as he turned away, dropping back down into the recliner with a sigh. _Like I'm a damn kid or something._

"Funny, you tell me you're not drunk, but you can't even walk a straight line," John remarked, eyeing Dean skeptically.

"I'm not drunk, Dad. I'm fucking tired."

"So that bottle of Jack there has been emptying itself, is that it?"

"I didn't drink _all_ of it. You can check if you want—it wasn't enough to get me shit-faced."

_You should know that. Shouldn't you know that?_

"It is if you're as tired as you say you are," John told him, raising an eyebrow at Dean as though daring him to continue.

"C'mon, Dad, could you just let it go?" Dean mumbled, too tired and too disheartened to argue.

"Son, when I leave you in charge of your brother and sister, I expect you to stay sober, not let them go out while you get plastered."

Dean's cell phone rang then, saving him from a reply. He flipped it open, glancing down at his watch with a frown. _What the hell? It's not even eleven yet—too soon to be hearing from Aub yet. _

"DEAN!"

"Aubrey, what's wrong?" he asked, the sound of her voice making his blood run cold as he listened to her sob into the phone.

"Dean, please come and get me now! I'm scared, I wanna come home! Please!"

"Aubrey, what happened? Where's Braden?" he asked, even as his dad stepped forward with a concerned look on his face.

"I'm all by myself, Dean, and I'm scared," she cried, not really answering his question, but it was enough to tell Dean that things were bad.

_Oh fuck._

"Listen to me, Aubrey," he said sternly, knowing he had to snap her out of it before she hit a full-blown panic attack. "Listen! Dad's here with me, and we're gonna come get you, okay? You stay on the phone with me, and you'll know you're not by yourself, okay?"

"Dean, please!" she continued to sob, obviously not listening to what he was saying. He grabbed at his coat, fumbling a bit as he tried to snag the keys out of the pocket. With a hard look, John took them from his hand, with a pointed "I'll drive" as he grabbed Dean by the arm and shoved him outside ahead of him.

Dean knew better than to argue, not that he even had a chance as John pushed him towards the passenger's seat, pulling open the driver's side door for himself and sliding in. The older man turned the key in the ignition and peeled out of the parking lot with the engine roaring as Dean tried to get something coherent out of Aubrey.

"Aubrey, are you still at the Martins' house? Aubrey, dammit, answer me!"

"Um, Dean?"

The new voice coming through the phone took him by surprise, but Dean quickly responded, hoping like hell that whoever the hell was on the other end was at least trying to comfort Aubrey.

"Yeah, who's this?"

"I'm Jillian—um, look, are you coming to get Aubrey, 'cause she's really freaking out. I think you should get here."

"You guys still at the Martins' house?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know where Braden is? If you can find him, she'll be okay."

"I don't see him anywhere—hang on, I'll see if anyone knows where he is." She covered the mouthpiece and in the background, Dean could hear her yell, "Has anyone seen Braden Winchester?"

"Dad, take a left here," Dean mumbled, waiting impatiently for Jillian to come back with an answer.

"Okay, here's what I know," she suddenly said into his ear a few agonizingly long minutes later. "Meghan said that Avery told her that Haley told him that Aubrey was with Jason in the living room, and Braden was on the couch looking like he'd passed out, and Denise said that Sharon saw him get up and leave like he was stoned or something."

_Son of a bitch. He's fucking sleepwalking. Dammit!_

"Jillian, did Sharon actually see him leave the _house_, or just the living room?"

"Um…hang on… … … okay, Sharon said she only saw him leaving the living room, but _Katie_ said she totally saw him leave the house. She knows for sure because she was in the foyer flirting with Tyler and…"

"Listen, did anything else happen to upset her?"

"Who, Katie? Well, no, I don't think so—she really likes Tyler—"

"No, dammit, I'm talking about Aubrey—did anything else happen to upset _Aubrey_?"

"Oh, no, not that I know of. Jason seemed to think she was having a good time, and I mean, it looked like she was to the rest of us, well those of—"

"Who the hell is Jason?"

"Hello? Are you even listening to me?" Jillian asked him, "I told you—the guy she was with until she realized Braden was gone."

_Oh hell no. _

"Look," Dean said, interrupting what he was sure was going to be a long, drawn-out tale that was guaranteed to irritate the hell out of him, "hand the phone back to Aubrey, and stay with her until I get there. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Aubrey, you gotta calm down," he said after Jillian had handed the phone back to Aubrey. "I'm gonna be there in a few minutes, okay? Aubrey?" But she didn't reply, and Dean cursed as he shook his head in sheer frustration_._ "Shit, Dad, she's crying so hard, she can't even hear me anymore," Dean muttered, even as he kept trying to calm her down.

_Bray, when I find you, I'm gonna kick your ass for this. _

Because imagining that Braden was anything but fine was unthinkable.

He handed the phone off to John and hit the sidewalk running as soon as the car came to a stop at the curb, not even bothering to knock when he reached the door. He charged inside, slamming into a teenage girl who looked only a step away from the kind of throwing-up-drunk that Dean had long ago learned to avoid.

" Aubrey Winchester—where can I find her?"

"Who's Aubrey?" the girl asked him, looking at him with a dazed expression.

"Fucking useless," he growled, thrusting her away as he turned away.

_Nevermind, I'll find her myself._

The foyer was just one big shit-storm waiting to happen, Dean thought, as what looked like half of the high school football team was setting up for an indoor scrimmage. The kitchen yielded nothing but trashed countertops and older teenagers alternately groping one another and drinking from red plastic cups. A quick scan of the dining room told him Aubrey wasn't there, either, and it wasn't until he reached the den that he found her. She was huddling in the corner of the room, tears pouring down her face as an older girl that he assumed was Jillian tried unsuccessfully to comfort her. Pushing several kids out of his way, he reached his sister, crouching down in front of her, and as soon as she caught sight of him, she threw herself into his arms.

"Hey, it's okay, I've gotcha," Dean murmured, hugging her close as he laid a kiss on the top of her head. "C'mon, Dad's in the car waiting for us," he said, trying to get her moving. But she wasn't about to relinquish the death grip she had on him, and he was suddenly reminded of the way she'd latched onto Sammy that night so long ago when he'd had to beat the hell out of the demon wearing her mother's skin. With a sigh, he shifted, lifting her into his arms. _Good thing she's still small,_ he thought gratefully, _'cause if she was as tall as the rest of us were at her age, carrying her wouldn't be so damn easy._ She buried her face in his neck, her hand clenching at his t-shirt.

"I can't find him, Dean," she sobbed. "He's gone!"

"Shh, it's okay. Dad and I are gonna find him, okay?"

Wordlessly, he reached the car and Aubrey released him to slide into the middle, burrowing against her father. Dean started to slip inside when John narrowed a harsh glare at him.

"Go back inside and search the place, make sure Braden's not somewhere in there."

"Dad, if Braden was inside, I'm sure he would have noticed Aubrey having a melt-down," Dean pointed out dryly. "He's not in there. Besides, Jillian said that Sharon and Katie both saw him leave the den, and Katie actually saw him leave the house."

"And you want to trust to hearsay and a bunch of teenagers drunk off their asses? What the fuck, Dean?! I taught you better than that. Now you get inside and double-check like I told you. This mess is your fault, and damn if you're not gonna help fix it. Now move your ass," he barked, and with his jaw clenched tightly, Dean slammed the car door shut and stormed back up to the door.

_Yeah, it's always my fault, Dad. Never yours for leaving them with me. Never theirs for not following orders. I'm sure Sam deciding to disobey you and leave was my fault, too. And you know, Dad, while I'm building up a good head of steam here, why don't you stop talking to me like I'm a fucking ten-year-old?_

Foregoing a knock, he shoved open the door and stepped inside once again, letting it slam closed behind him. _I am too fucking tired for this shit. _Grabbing a kid who was unlucky enough to be passing by, he slung the boy around to face him, eyeing him with a look that he knew was enough to sober the kid up a little.

"I'm looking for Braden Winchester—you seen him?"

"Nah, man," the boy told him, his words slurring a bit as he tried to pull away, "but I think Jason was with the other one, the sister—he might know."

_Jason, huh? Yeah, let's go have a chat with _Jason_._

"Show me," Dean ordered, gripping the boy's shoulder tightly as he pushed the kid ahead of him.

"That's him, right there," the boy told him, pointing to a kid in a letter jacket who was standing in the corner of the room, his arms propped up against the wall on either side of a girl he was talking up. Releasing the boy, Dean walked resolutely forward, not slowing as he grabbed one of the kid's shoulders and spun him around.

"Braden Winchester. You seen him?"

"What the hell, dude? You're messing up my game here."

"Yeah, well I'm gonna mess up more than your game if you don't answer the damn question."

"Look, man, last I saw Winchester, he was sitting on the couch, zoning. He must've taken a hit off some pot or something, 'cause he didn't even notice when I was chatting up his sister," the kid told him with a snicker. Grabbing the kid by the collar of his jacket, he slammed him back against the wall, rage building inside him.

_Dude, you are _so_ fucking pushing me into older-brother-protective- freak-out mode.__Which puts you so dangerously far up shit-creek without a paddle that you don't wanna know._

"You didn't see him after that?" he asked, trying to stay focused on the matter at hand despite the fact that he wanted to beat the utter hell out of the kid for how he'd spoken of Aubrey.

"Well, I was a little busy," Jason told him, and in the back of his mind, Dean marveled at the kid's total lack of self-preservation. Of their own volition, Dean's hands tightened on the kid's collar as he twisted the fabric in his grip, just enough to get it through the idiot's skull that he should shut up.

"You telling me that you actually put your fucking hands on my little sister?"

"Oh shit, man, I'm sorry, I'm—"

"You're lucky I don't have the time to beat the shit outta you," Dean growled, fighting to hang on to his temper.

_Keep it together, Dean—more important things than kicking this guy's ass right now. Ah fuck, I can't just let shit like that go unanswered. _"But you know what, kid? I'll make the time if you ever touch her again, you got me?"

"Yeah, man, I got it!" Jason said hastily.

He resisted the urge to knock the kid into tomorrow and finished a quick search of the house, concluding that Braden was definitely not there and that the Martins were more than likely going to regret leaving the house in the hands of their daughter.

"He's not there." _Like I told you._

"Damn it."

Aubrey finally lapsed into an exhausted silence about halfway home, slumped against John, and the rest of the drive was silent. Dean got out of the car without a word, leaving his father to handle getting Aubrey inside as he started clearing up the food wrappers he'd left sprawled all over the living room area. Aubrey shuffled in a few minutes later, still clinging to John's side the way she'd always done when she was upset. She dropped onto the sofa and pulled her knees into her chest, staring despondently back at him.

"We'll find him, Aub," Dean told her softly, reaching out to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. She leaned into him for a second until Dean eased back, hearing the sound of John's footsteps coming up behind them both.

"So what the hell happened?" John asked, shutting the door behind him as he turned to face Dean and Aubrey.

"Daddy, he was right there on Lyssa's sofa…until he wasn't anymore," Aubrey said tearfully. "I don't know what happened. I only took my eyes off him for a second."

"Uh," Dean broke in, "Jillian said that Sharon…or was it Katie who told… oh hell, _somebody_ said that he looked pretty out of it, got up and just walked out the door."

"Was he drunk?"

"Nah, I don't think so—he knows better than to mess with that shit. I'm thinkin' he was sleepwalking."

"What?!" John asked, looking at Dean incredulously, as though he thought Dean was crazy for even suggesting it.

"He hasn't been sleeping, I told you that." _Obviously, you weren't paying much attention. _"So what's the plan?"

"The plan? You're gonna stay here while I go out and start looking for your brother."

"I could help," Dean offered softly.

"No, I think you've done enough."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Dammit, Dean, I leave the twins with you because I trust you to keep things under control. I trusted you, and I come home to find you a step away from drunk, the twins at a party they had no business being at in the first damn place, one of them in the middle of a fucking panic attack, and the other one missing!"

"What?! You know what, Dad?! I have done everything you ever asked of me, and when you tell me to watch out for them, that's what I fucking do! I _stay_, and I keep them safe! I'm twenty-four years old, Dad—I could be out living it up with some hot chick and a shitload of booze, but no," he heard himself say viciously, "instead, I'm _here_, raising _your_ kids, and you're giving me shit about it!" he yelled, lashing out and hitting the bottle of whiskey still sitting on the table, his eyes never leaving his father's gaze as the bottle hit the wall and shattered.

"You're right, Dean—you _are_ twenty-four years old," John said coldly. "And I thought you could handle things, but obviously I thought wrong. You dropped the ball this time, and I don't guess I have to tell you that I'm pretty damn disappointed."

Dean went instantly cold inside as his father's words hit him like a slap in the face. It was the only thing he could do, his only defense against the swell of blame, hurt, and anger threatening to overwhelm him. He turned away and began to pick up the shards of glass left behind by the broken bottle of Jack Daniels as he wordlessly built up the walls inside him, cutting himself off from his father's carelessly slung words. He wrapped himself in the silence, embracing it as he narrowed his entire focus on the pieces of glass littering the floor.

_You're right, Dad. I fucked up. I'm done. You can take care of it now. You can take care of it all._

"Ah, dammit, Dean," John whispered, rubbing a weary hand over his eyes before looking back at him apologetically. "Look, do you have any idea about where your brother might have gone?" he asked, trying to evade the uncomfortable tension that had sprung up between them.

"No sir," he replied curtly, walking into the kitchen to dump the pieces he'd picked up into the trashcan before heading to the bathroom, just wanting to escape. _Ah, shit, this damn ward is still on the floor_, he thought, choosing to focus on that instead of his dad, his siblings, or the weariness that was weighing so heavily on him. Dragging some random cleaning supplies kept for just such an occasion out from under the sink, he knelt on the floor beside the ward and started spraying and scrubbing, ignoring the sound of his father coming to stand in the doorway.

"What are you doing?"

_What's it look like I'm fucking doing?_

"Cleaning this up," he said instead.

"I thought he'd quit doing that."

"No."

_I just got better at cleaning the shit up before you saw it. _

"Shit, Dean, I don't wanna fight with you."

"Then don't," Dean told him, not raising his eyes as he channeled his anger into the stubborn streaks on the floor.

_Fucking Sharpies._

"Fine. But look, you've gotta have _some_ idea," John told him, and even though he had his back to his father, Dean could feel the weight of his old man's heavy gaze locked onto him.

"If he was awake, yeah, I would," Dean bit out. "But he's not. So I don't. Sir."

"I'm gonna go out and start a search pattern, then. Call me if you hear from him."

"Yes sir."

* * *

One hour, one beer from the fridge, and a shitload of heavy-duty multi-purpose cleaner later, their dad still wasn't back.

_And these damn Sharpie marks are still here. _

"Dean?"

Dean looked up from a particularly stubborn section of Braden's annoying-as-hell handiwork to see Aubrey leaning against the doorway with a stricken expression.

"What's wrong?"

"Are you mad at us?" she whispered, falling back into the old habit of speaking not only for herself but for her twin brother as well.

"Mad at you?"

_What the hell gave her that idea?_

"You told Dad…you said…you said you were stuck here with us…that you could have been with a hot chick and all instead of with us…"

"Aubrey, don't worry about it. I'm tired, and I'm talking outta my ass—just ignore me."

"But you sounded so mad…" she mumbled. "We don't try to make it hard for you, D, we swear," she told him, shaking her head emphatically.

"Aubrey, I…"

_How am I supposed to explain this? Shit. _

He sighed, dropping the cleaning rag on the floor as he climbed to his feet and came to stand before her. Dropping his hands on her shoulders, he stared down at her for a minute before gently tightening his grip.

"Listen to me. You're my sister. And yeah, I might get sick of you and Bray every now and then, especially when I'm on my knees in Sharpie hell trying to get Braden's wards off whatever surface he's drawn them all over—but that doesn't mean I'd trade any second of looking after you guys. Family's _everything_, Aub. Don't ever forget that."

Smiling shakily up at him, she lunged forward, hugging him around the waist.

"We love you, too, Dean," she whispered.

And for just a moment, Dean could forget everything, could forget that he was exhausted, that he was pissed off at his dad, that Braden was missing. Because for that moment, none of it seemed to matter.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I cherish each and every review you guys send!

**HitTheRoadMack**: Thanks so much for reviewing! I'm glad you gave my fic a chance, especially since you favor one-shots more! I'm the opposite myself—I usually avoid one-shots in favor of longer fics—so thanks for breaking habit there!

**rholou**: It's always so nice to hear when people willingly sacrifice their free time to read through a fic as long as this one is! LOL! Thanks for the compliments! I'm glad you're enjoying the twins as teens, because I was worried about the transition from the adorable eight-year-olds to fourteen-year-olds. I'll try to throw in some hurtDean at some point for you, but it might be awhile before I can work it in. We'll see! Thanks for reviewing!

**I'mcalledZorro**: Thanks for the compliment about the older twins! I was so worried about how well they would come across now that they're older, so you helped alleviate my worries! Thanks so much!

**Bunty**: You were right to feel worried about the party. You'll get more of what happened in the next chapter! Also, thanks for the encouragement about updating consistently, even though I've kept you guys hanging for awhile. It took me longer than I thought to get a handle on this chapter. Thanks for sticking with me!

**zuimar**: You know, the whole bit about the twins calling Dean "D," was very much a questionable thing when it came to my betas. One liked it, the other didn't, so I had to actually make a decision on it by myself—LOL! Glad you liked it! As for Sam, he'll make it back into the story soon—probably not the next chapter, but the one after it (if all goes according to plan, anyway). Thanks for reviewing and letting me know what you thought of the flash forward and all!

**Jenmm31**: I'm sorry Sammy wasn't back in this chapter, either—it'll most likely be in Chapter 26 that he makes it back in, so if you'll stick with me, I promise he'll be back! Braden's chapter is up next, so you'll get a little bit more insight into what's going on with him. Hope you'll keep reading! Thanks for the review!

**CowboySteel**: Aww, you made me feel so good inside—thanks for the lovely compliments you gave me! Sorry I kept you waiting so long for this chapter, but I'm hoping it'll be worth the wait! Thanks for reviewing!

**PRaCK**: Thanks for the bits of advice along the way—the party thing with Jason was added all because of you! Think of it as my gift to you for not killing everyone in your story off! I know my scene wasn't quite as much as you asked for, but I gave it a shot—hope you liked it! Oh, and have no fear—Sammy will be back in Chapter 26 (I think).


	25. The Subconscious of the Sleep Deprived

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Please note that I do not speak Latin, and therefore the Latin in this chapter is derived from an online Instant Translator that is no doubt unreliable when it comes to accurate conjugation and such. Nevertheless, it sounds kinda cool, so I decided to go with it, even though I'm relatively certain it's not proper Latin.

A/N: Wow, I'm starting to get A/N happy…I'm sorry, but I can't just post without thanking mimishell for beta-ing this for me! Thanks, mimi! Oh, and as always, sorry for the long delay—sickness and holidays didn't lend themselves to a speedy update.

Chapter 25: The Subconscious of the Sleep-Deprived

The abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town was damp and cold, but he felt nothing as he carefully laid the candles at each of the points of the compass, careful not to scatter the hemp seed that was poured in intricate swirls on the dirty, concrete floor. In the bowl at the center of the circle, dried calendula and amaranth waited to be lit as he carefully lifted the small bottle of galbanum oil and began to pour as he slowly walked the perimeter of the circle. Eyeing the sigils drawn throughout the carefully constructed design, he finally took a calming breath and leaned down, one by one lighting the candles before dropping the match into the bowl, leaning back as the dried herbs ignited.

"_Adveho procul meus dico_," he murmured softly, the Latin words flowing off his tongue and settling in the still air with a heaviness that spoke of their weight. "S_ub rosa, adveho dum nemo teneo nostri presentia quod voluntas es insciens. Adveho in obscurum ut ego dico vos iam , pro in umbra nos niteo._"

With the last word, the air seemed to thicken with the power of the spell, and slowly, he sat back on his heels, waiting. He didn't have to wait long before a voice emerged from the darkness.

"You summoned me."

He turned, raising his gaze to the shadowy figure that had manifested behind him, nodding his head as he stood to face the presence staring back at him from the darkness.

"Yes," he replied gravely as he dropped his eyes respectfully.

"You risk too much—you could have been followed."

"I felt it necessary," he began, only to be interrupted by the sharp voice of his superior.

"Have you taken leave of your senses? If your actions are exposed, everyone involved will be in jeopardy—we can't afford that now!" he said harshly. "Not after the last time!"

"My apologies, but there was aught else I could do—m y task grows more difficult. The boy's defenses are expanding. He's beginning to erect shields—it's harder to take control when I need to."

"It was to be expected. He's no longer a child—even the head-blind develop mental defenses during adolescence, and the Winchester boy is no exception. Has he become aware of you?"

"No."

"He will. The time is at hand."

"Should I make myself known, then?"

"Only if you must. The truth is revealed in its own time. Patience in matters such as these is best. He will know soon enough."

"The elder—Dean—I worry that he may begin to grow suspicious. He observes the young one with an ever watchful eye, and I fear he may soon suspect if I continue to—"

"You mustn't allow him to interfere. Too much hangs in the balance if he learns of you. We can't afford any more questions, not after last time."

"The Minion incident was years ago—surely no one will—"

"Heed my words—take caution."

"Very well."

"Maintain secrecy as long as you can. Let _nothing_ hinder you."

"Of course," he said, nodding as he watched the blurry form of his superior fade into the darkness, and with a sigh, he crouched down and blew out the flames, allowing them to cool while he carefully gathered all traces of his presence and the ritual. It wouldn't do to leave anything behind.

* * *

With a jerk, Braden came awake, his heart leaping in his chest as he felt the split second of free-fall that seemed to come whenever he was in that familiar state of not-asleep, not-awake.

_Why's it cold?_

It seemed as though he'd just dreamed something, something important, but he couldn't remember.

_Did I go somewhere? What…_

It was about that time that Braden realized, rather belatedly, that he was no longer asleep on Lyssa Martin's living room sofa but was instead standing on a dark, abandoned sidewalk. It was also about that time that it occurred to him that he had no idea where the sidewalk in question was. A buzzing sound in the back of his mind had him reaching for his head, rubbing at his temple as he struggled to think past the blurry haze of confusion and the headache that was nipping at the edge of his consciousness.

_Aubrey? Aw shit, where's Aubrey?_

Worry had his gut churning sickeningly, and he dropped to the curb on the side of the road, burying his face in his hands as he tried to figure out what to do and not throw up. Aubrey had the phone they shared, which meant Braden couldn't exactly call, but it didn't really matter, since he wouldn't know how to tell anyone where he was anyway. So basically, he was up shit creek without a paddle.

_Can't stay here. Can't just sit. Move your ass._

He regained his feet unsteadily, feeling shaky and confused as he gazed around, trying to figure out where he was. But even in such a small town, Braden didn't have a clue, despite his attempts to assess his surroundings. His mind felt fuzzy, and grasping at coherent thought was proving more and more difficult.

_Payphone—call home. Yeah…_ he thought, looking around desperately only to see nothing but dark, abandoned buildings and graffiti-covered signs.

_Maybe if I…yeah…_

Subconsciously picking a direction, he began to stumble down the street, hoping absently that the shakiness in his limbs would dissipate. But it didn't, and after only a short distance, he dropped back to the curb with a shuddering sigh, drawing his knees up to his chest. He buried his face in his arms, trying to think rationally about his next course of action but unable to push past the confusion and the headache and the weariness pressing down on him.

_'m tired. Don't feel good. Can't think._

He didn't know how long he sat there staring through his arms at the ground beneath him, his body wigging out on him and feeling not-his-own before someone spoke.

"Hey, kid—you alright?"

"Lost," Braden mumbled, and while that really wasn't the worst of his problems, it was really all he could manage at the moment, he decided vaguely.

_Shouldn't talk to strangers. _

"I'm Officer Clarke—can you tell me your name, son?"

_Cop. Aw, shit. Not good. Gotta answer._

"Braden," he replied, too tired and sick to lift his head, even if it _was_ a cop.

"Braden, are you high?"

"Nosir."

_Why's he askin' me that?_

"Can you look up at me for a minute?"

"'m tired. Don't feel good," he said in lieu of a reply, remaining as he was, his face hidden as he closed his eyes, willing the quaking in his limbs to go away.

"How about just for a minute, so I can get a look at you," the cop told him reasonably, his tone striking Braden as surprisingly friendly, gentle even, if not a tad cautious. Reluctantly, Braden lifted his head to see a tall, broad-shouldered police officer standing over him with a concerned expression, searching his eyes for a long minute before crouching down beside him and putting the back of his hand against Braden's flushed cheek.

"How old are you, Braden?"

"Fourteen," Braden mumbled, allowing his head to drop back onto his arms and wearily closing his eyes again.

_Why can't ya' just leave me 'lone?_

"What's a kid your age doing out here in the middle of the night?" Officer Clarke continued, obviously unwilling to just go away.

"I dunno. 'm lost."

"Yes, I can see that," Officer Clarke said with a smile, "but how did you get out here in the first place?"

"I dunno. Fell asleep. Woke up here."

"You woke up without any recollection of how you got here?"

"Yessir."

"Then where did the backpack come from?"

"Huh?"

_Backpack? What?_

"You're wearing a backpack, son, which suggests that your coming out here was premeditated."

"Backpack?"

Sure enough, Braden suddenly became aware of the straps pressing into his shoulders, the weight of the backpack pulling against him.

_Huh. Where'd that come from?_

"You didn't know you had it?"

"Nosir."

"And you haven't taken any drugs, had any alcohol to drink?"

"Nosir."

_Don't do that shit. D would kick m' ass._

"You live nearby?"

"I dunno. 'm lost."

_Didn't I tell him that?_

"Alright, well why don't you rest here for a second, let me see what I can do to help you out, okay?"

"'kay," Braden mumbled, already feeling his limbs grow heavy as a deep fatigue pulled at him.

"Dispatch," he heard the cop say into his radio, "this is Clarke. I've got a kid out here near the old glass factory—male, Caucasian, fourteen years of age, approximately 5'10", dark hair, blue eyes, first name Braden. Do we have any missing child reports matching that description?"

As the cop fell silent waiting for a reply, Braden felt himself drifting closer and closer to the sleep that had eluded him for so long, and for the first time in weeks, he couldn't seem to resist it.

"Nah, I don't think so," Officer Clarke was saying. "He's disoriented, but his eyes aren't dilated…think he's running a fever…no idea how he got here…yeah, I'm gonna take him on into the ER—he's not acting right…try and call his parents once I get there…"

_Don't wanna go_, Braden thought, but somehow, he just didn't have the strength to say it.

"Yeah, he's too out of it to talk to me much…negative on the ambulance…10-4..."

The next thing Braden knew, he felt a warm hand grip his arm, jostling him awake as the cop suddenly spoke to him.

"C'mon, kid, let's get you into the squad car, okay? Can you stand?"

_Maybe._

He was vaguely aware of the cop pulling him up, and he swayed on his feet, managing to stay upright only because Officer Clarke maintained a firm hold on him, guiding him over to the squad car.

_Shouldn't be doin' this, _he told himself, even as his traitorous body sank bonelessly down onto the seat. He was asleep before the door closed behind him.

* * *

Time had long ceased to have meaning when snatches of conversation and the familiar, gruff tones of his father's voice began to penetrate the dark nothingness that had dragged him under.

"Yeah, he sleepwalks…disorients the hell out of him if he wakes up in the middle….musta been… usually do a better job of watching…don't know how he…yeah, I wanna get him home…"

_Home? _he thought with growing alarm as higher-order brain functions began to come online again._ Aw shit, where am I?_

"How often does the sleepwalking disrupt his sleep, Mr. Winchester?"

"It comes and it goes, Doc."

_Doc? How the hell did I get in the hospital?_

"Often enough, I guess," John was saying. "His older brother and I try to run interference and get him back to bed, but it's taking its toll on us."

_Don't blame all that on me, Dad—you and D sleep lightly anyway, 'cause you worry about evil shit coming after us in the dark. It's not just me._

"If that's the case, there are a number of medications that could help him sleep soundly. However, it's best if you discuss them with Braden's pediatrician—it might take a bit of trial and error to get just the right medication and dosage."

_My pediatrician—riiiiight,_ Braden thought wryly, fighting the urge to shake his head out of sheer amusement. _That implies that we actually stay in one place long enough for me to _have_ a pediatrician. _

"Yeah, I hate to think about drugging him every night, but I can't have him doing this again—it's just too damn dangerous."

_Oh fuck, this is bad. What did I do?_ Braden thought, shifting nervously as a slow sense of dread filled him. Dwelling on the implications of his father's words, Braden missed the doctor's reply, and the next thing he knew, the door was closing. And judging by the sound of the footsteps approaching the bed where he was lying, Braden knew it could only be one person.

_Uh-oh._

"Braden, you and I both know you're not asleep, so cut the bullshit, son," his dad told him gruffly, but underneath the sternness, Braden could sense the worry in his voice. "Open your eyes and look at me."

Braden ever-so-slowly opened his eyes to see his dad leaning over him with a mixed expression of worry and irritation.

"Hey, Dad," Braden said uneasily, biting his lip as he forced himself to meet his father's gaze.

"You scare the shit outta me disappearing in the middle of the night, and all you've got to say for yourself is 'hey, Dad?'"

"I don't know what happened, Dad," he said slowly, shrugging helplessly as he stared back into the other man's eyes.

"What happened is that you disappeared from a damn party—a party that you had no business being at in the first place, I might add—and I had to spend most of the night searching for your ass when I got home from that hunt outside Denver. I looked for you for hours before I finally got the message that you were here."

"Oh."

_Aw shit._

"Yeah."

"Dad, I _swear_, I don't know what happened," Braden told him earnestly. "I was—"

"Save it. We'll talk about it later. Get dressed—we're getting the hell out of here."

"What time is it?" he asked tentatively, as he sat up and pushed the sheet aside, already peeling the hospital gown off his shoulders.

"About 3 in the morning." He picked up Braden's neatly folded jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie and dropped them into Braden's lap, motioning for him to hurry up.

"How'd I get here?" he asked, pulling his jeans on over his boxers before pulling the t-shirt on over his head.

"Some cop found you wandering somewhere on the outskirts of town. Cop brought you in 'cause he thought you were acting strange."

"What did the doctor say?"

_Please say they found something—anything. Just so I know what's wrong with me._

"Mild fever, exhaustion. That's why I'm giving you a reprieve. For now. We'll talk about this after you get some sleep."

_That's gonna be a fun conversation, _he thought with a grimace_._

"So, um…where's Aubrey?"

"At home with your brother."

"She okay?" he asked softly, looking back at his father as he held his hoodie in still hands.

"Son, you took off and left her alone without a word—what do you think?" John asked, not unkindly but his point was made just the same. "You scared the hell out of her."

"Dad, I—"

"Not here, Braden. Now, I'm gonna go sign the discharge papers—finish getting dressed and do _not_ leave this room—I'll be back for you. Understand?"

"Yessir," he said, watching his father leave before letting out a deep sigh.

_Well, the good news is, Dad doesn't seem quite as pissed as I would've thought. The bad news, though, is, if he stays true to form, that only means he's saving it up for when we get home. Yep. It's gonna be bad. _

He stomped into his tennis shoes, too tired to kneel down and tie them, and was sitting on his bed when his dad came back in.

"Let's go," he said, picking up Braden's backpack from beside the door and motioning for Braden to follow him. As he trailed his father down the corridor, he could feel the pressure in his head beginning to bear down on him again, the same headache he'd had in varying strengths for what seemed like weeks.

_Why won't it just go away?_ he thought with a growing sense of frustration.

"_You're doing it to yourself, you know."_

So surprised by the almost inaudible words whispering through his mind, Braden stumbled, almost face-planting into the floor.

_What the fuck?_

But there was nothing else, no sign that what he'd heard was anything but imagined.

"Braden, I'm pretty damn tired. Now, quit playin' around and move your ass," John said, motioning him forward impatiently. He bit his lip and hurried forward, following his father out to the familiar black GMC pick-up in the mostly empty parking lot.

_Maybe it's just 'cause I'm tired. Yeah, that's it. I just need to get some freakin' sleep._

_

* * *

  
_

Braden awoke when the truck came to a stop outside their apartment building. He dragged his hand through his hair before heaving a sigh and reaching for the door handle.

"Braden."

"Sir?" he asked, his hand pausing on the handle as he waited apprehensively for his father's next words.

_God, please let Dad channel his inner-girl and be sensitive, just this once— I'll totally go to church with Aubby next time she asks, I promise, just please don't make him wanna talk about everything _now_. _

"You go in, change, and get your ass into bed. We're all too tired to deal with this right now."

"Yessir."

_Guess I'm going to church with Aubby then…_

He slipped out of the truck, closing the door quietly but firmly before falling into step with his father. When his dad unlocked the door to the apartment, Braden took a deep breath and slowly slipped in behind him, pausing at the sight of Dean sitting on the couch staring at the TV with unseeing eyes as Aubrey slept restlessly, curled up at his side with her head on his leg.

"Bout time you dragged your ass home," Dean said, his voice devoid of emotion as he gazed back at Braden blearily, his posture a picture of exhaustion.

"'m sorry, D," Braden murmured, feeling like absolute shit as he saw the unspoken worry that had obviously taken its toll on his older brother.

"Braden, bed. Now," John said, nudging him in a not-so-subtle hint to get moving. "You want me to get her?" he asked, addressing Dean as he nodded towards Aubrey, already moving forward to take her. But Dean shook his head, wordlessly shifting Aubrey into his arms and climbing to his feet with the ease of years of practice.

_Ah man, this sucks—Dad musta said something to D, and now he's pissed and not talking to Dad. Again. 'Cept, this time, it's all _my_ fault._

Braden followed silently as Dean carried Aubrey to the twins' bedroom, and as his older brother laid her down on her bed and pulled the blanket up around her shoulders, Braden felt his throat tighten at the sight of the dried tearstains on her face, no doubt a result of not knowing where he was.

_Aw shit._

"Is Aubby mad at me, D?" he whispered as he toed off his shoes and peeled his hoodie off.

"You'll have to ask her. In the morning. Don't wake her up," Dean said, not glancing at him as he stopped near the hamster cage on Braden's dresser and bent down beside a stack of books from their father's collection, grabbing up a few of the larger ones and placing them firmly on top of the lid of the cage before straightening to move past him.

"Dean?"

"What?"

"Are _you_ mad at me?" Braden asked, biting his lip worriedly as he risked a glance into his older brother's face.

"Bray…" Dean said with a sigh, "as much as I would love to kick your ass for what happened tonight…mostly you just scared the hell outta me."

"I didn't mean to, D, I swear."

"Yeah, I know," Dean told him softly, jerking Braden forward in a tight hug. "Try to stay in bed for what's left of tonight, okay? I gotta get some fucking sleep."

"'kay," Braden replied with a half-hearted smile, glad at least one sibling wasn't pissed off at him. John walked in then, eyeing Braden sternly.

"Go to bed, son," he said, gently pushing Dean towards the door before he turned to Braden with a stern expression. "I thought I told _you_ to get to bed, too," he said gruffly.

"Yessir." And though he really wanted to defend his actions, he knew well enough that arguing with John Winchester about the nature of any given order at three in the morning was asking for a shitload of trouble. So he kept his mouth shut and stripped down to his boxers and undershirt as his dad pulled the covers down on the bed.

"Get in."

Tucking him in was a nice gesture, certainly not an unwelcome one, even if it was treating him like a little kid, and it was one that he and Aubrey both had grown to appreciate as a gesture that their dad didn't indulge in much anymore. But all Braden could think about was the fact that his dad was expecting him to get in bed and sleep. _Sleep_. Something that had eluded him for the better part of three and a half weeks. And though the prospect of sleep should have been something he welcomed with open arms, the possibility of what he could do if he let himself fall asleep caused a sudden, inexplicable sense of panic to well up as his dad waited for him to comply.

"Dad, can't I just stay up with you for awhile? Please? We can watch TV or something, or…um, we could go ahead and talk…and…and, then there won't be anything hanging over our heads all night," he said, well aware that he sounded like a little kid begging to stay up past his bedtime, and just as aware that there was no chance in hell his father would go for it but desperate enough to try anyway.

"No. I'm tired, you're sleep-deprived, and it's almost four in the morning. We're all going to bed, and that includes you."

"But, Dad," Braden protested, even as John steered him to the bed and gently pushed him in.

"I said no," John told him, pulling the covers up around Braden's shoulders. He laid his hand on Braden's head, sweeping his hair back from his forehead affectionately. "Go to sleep, son."

And as Braden closed his eyes, the comforting weight of his father's hand on his head, his last thought before sleep claimed him was, _Please, God, keep me here for the rest of the night—don't let anything else happen._

* * *

Braden couldn't say for sure what woke him, but as his eyes opened, he realized with an irritated scowl that the digital clock by the bed was showing 7:03.

_Still early—what the hell? I've only been asleep a measly three and a half hours, dammit!_

But as he shifted to go back to sleep, he caught sight of Aubrey sitting on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest, her chin propped on top of her knees as she stared back at him silently.

"Aubby?" he asked softly, sitting up in bed and swiveling around to face her, mirroring her. "Aubby, are you okay?"

"We never should've gone to that stupid party," she murmured. "We should've just stayed home with Dean."

_Aw, shit, Aub—c'mon, don't do this to me._

But apparently whatever connection the two of them shared was currently offline because she was looking back at him expectantly, waiting for him to respond.

"I'm sorry I ruined it for you," he told her regretfully, unable to meet her eyes as a swell of guilt filled him.

"Why'd you do that, Braden? Why didn't you just come and tell me you were too tired to stay any longer?! We could've just come home, and then I wouldn't have been alone, and I wouldn't have embarrassed myself in front of everybody!"

"I'm sorr—"

"I was scared, Braden! And I completely humiliated myself—you just left me there!" she cried, staring back at him with angry, tearful eyes, and he felt something inside of him snap then. It wasn't often that Braden lost his temper—in fact, it was almost never, which definitely set him apart from the rest of the Winchester family. But on the rare occasion when it _did _happen, he wasn't one to hold back.

"Dammit, I'm sorry!" he exploded, suddenly tired of being blamed and chewed out for something that was out of his control, something he didn't really understand. Something that wasn't his fault. "I'm sorry! What the hell do you want from me?" he yelled.

"I want you to stop lying to me!" she yelled back, abruptly coming to stand in front of him, her hands clenched in angry fists as she glared back at him. "You've been lying to me for weeks, now, and I'm sick of it!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"I'm talking about how you've spent the last three weeks lying to me every time I ask you if you're okay! You've hardly slept, and you're tired, but you just keep on lying, telling me that you're fine when you're not! Or you downplay it, which is just as bad! If you had just told me the truth, none of this would've happened!"

"I only went to that stupid-ass party because of _you_! And now it's all _my_ fault?!"

"Well if you'd just told me—"

"Aubrey, I lost two fucking hours! I don't know where I was or how I even got there—so what the hell are _you_ bitching about!?"

Aubrey opened her mouth to deliver what was no doubt about to be a blistering retort when the door was thrown open, slamming into the wall to reveal Dean staring back at them with a majorly pissed off expression, their dad right behind him.

"Why don't you _both_ shut the hell up!?" Dean yelled, his eyes dark with fury. "I am fucking tired, and I need some damn sleep before I fucking _lose _it!"

_Aw shit._

"Dean, I got this," John broke in, stepping in to put a stop to Dean's tirade before he really got going or broke something, wrapping his hand around Dean's shoulder and maneuvering him back towards his bedroom. Jerking away from their father's hold, Dean swept his arm out, slinging the clock radio that sat on Braden's dresser against the wall with a crash that had Aubrey cringing before he stormed out of the room, his bedroom door slamming shut behind him with a resounding bang.

_Not good. Definitely not good_, Braden thought, watching with a sense of dread as their dad turned to stare at them, and based on the look on Aubrey's face, Braden suspected that she, too, was anticipating the lecture that was no doubt coming. Aubrey opened her mouth, no doubt about to start justifying her actions, but John held up a hand, cutting her off as he cocked his head, listening, Braden knew, for any sign that Dean was still raging.

When he apparently heard nothing else, he refocused his attention on the twins, staring back at them sternly.

"Do you know what time it is?"

Dad had definite rules about being a smartass before he'd consumed coffee, so with that in mind, Braden decided against pointing out the obvious "Nosir, because Dean just broke our clock" and settled for shaking his head instead as his father continued.

"It's seven o'clock in the morning, and while that might not seem all that early to _you two_, some of us have been up most of the damn night. I just got back from a hunt, and I didn't get much sleep while I was gone. To top that off, I had to come and spend most of my night looking for you, Braden. I'm tired. And since both of you are obviously too busy fighting with each other, maybe you haven't noticed how exhausted your brother is right now. He's on edge, and he can't deal with much more right now. He needs some sleep, so I suggest you both put whatever issues you have with one another on hold and go back to bed, because I promise you, if you wake Dean up again, I don't care how old you are, I _will_ spank the hell out of both of you. Are we clear?"

"Yessir," they both replied without argument, because Braden knew that his father's suggestion wasn't _really_ a suggestion, and his promise was exactly that: a promise. Dad hadn't spanked either of them in a good long time, but with things as they were right then, Braden didn't doubt the old man would go through with it if they disobeyed.

With one last hard look, John closed the door meaningfully behind him, leaving a thick silence in his wake.

"I was scared," Aubrey whispered into the stillness, staring down at her feet before glancing back at him apologetically.

"'m sorry, Aubby, really."

"You can talk to me, you know," she offered softly, and Braden felt a pang in his heart, well aware that she was issuing an invitation to talk but knowing that it was one he couldn't accept.

"I can't this time, Aub."

"We used to tell each other everything," she said sadly.

"Yeah, I know. But this time, it's different."

"How?"

_I wish I knew._

He shrugged, not really knowing what to tell her. It was the same reason he hadn't told Dean a few days before.

"Please, Bray, try—for me."

He sighed, tired of keeping shit from her, and knowing well enough that he couldn't hold out against her for much longer. He'd kept it from her for weeks now, and it would be such a relief to unload. And he realized right then that he really _did_ want to tell her everything he knew.

_Which isn't a lot, but at least I won't be keeping everything to myself anymore. At least I won't be alone._

"I don't really understand it, Aubby, but…I've been having these dreams, except it's hard to remember when I wake up. I feel like…in the dreams, I'm doing something, something important, except I can't really control myself, and when I wake up, I start to forget. Like what happened at the party—I fell asleep, and I was dreaming, I know I was. But I don't remember any of it anymore. I dunno. 's like, when I think I'm dreaming, it's really me sleepwalking—you know when you're aware, kinda, but not really? 's like that. I keep doing shit in my sleep, Aubby, but I don't know exactly what I'm doing. And then there's the backpack," he said with a sigh.

"What backpack?"

"The backpack I had with me when that cop found me early this morning."

"How'd you end up with a backpack?" she asked, a puzzled look on her face as she gazed back at him.

"No effing clue. I've never even seen it before. But that's not even what I'm worried about—it's what's inside that I'm _really_ worried about."

"What's in it?"

"Well, from what I remember from when I got a quick look—candles, some herbs—amaranth and calendula, I think—some chalk, maybe some other shit. I didn't get a good look."

"What do you do with stuff like that?" she asked him, scooting back against the headboard as she waited for him to explain.

"Well, you can do a lot with them…tons of spells and rituals use them. I'm not real sure about the specifics, but any one of 'em is pretty strong. But shit, Aubby, what was I even doing with all of it?"

"Could you figure out what spell or ritual-thingy you were using them for?"

"Maybe. If I saw all of the stuff in the bag…like I said, I only got a quick look at it earlier, and I was kinda out of it."

With a resolute nod, Aubrey stood and tiptoed to the door without a word.

"Aub, what are you doing?" he asked, frowning as she silently turned the doorknob.

"I'm gonna go get the backpack," she whispered. "If you can look at everything you had in there, maybe you can at least figure out what you were doing. Daddy left it by the door, right?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so," he said, standing up to follow her.

They hardly made it four steps out of their room when they heard the familiar sound of their father's voice from the couch.

"Both of you, go back to bed. Now. And do not even _think_ of getting up until ten."

"Dang it," Aubrey muttered under her breath, voicing Braden's sentiments exactly as they reluctantly went back to their room, shutting the door quietly behind them. Aubrey shrugged helplessly, aiming an apologetic look at him before crawling back into her bed. Braden followed suit, pulling the blanket back up around his shoulder as they lapsed into a comfortable silence. Before long, they were both asleep, and Braden would have been hard-pressed to say which one of them had fallen asleep first.

* * *

"_Look for the signs."_

_Floating in a sea of darkness, he was disoriented, but Braden was relatively sure that it wasn't _his_ voice that he was hearing._

What the hell?_ he thought , vaguely aware that he wasn't exactly dreaming but neither was he awake. _

"_Things are beginning to happen, boy—you need to look for the signs. We're running out of time, and you must be ready to act when the time comes."_

"_Who are you?" Braden asked, feeling pretty stupid but too eager to get an answer to let it stop him._

"_Nevermind that. Just do as I said and be ready."_

"_I don't know who you are—why should I listen to you?" Braden thought mutinously, wondering at the same time why he was arguing with a voice in his head. _

Isn't that a sign that there's something wrong with you, when you start talking to the voices in your head? Maybe I'm losing my freakin' mind.

"_Because if you don't listen to me," the voice said darkly, "you're going to force my hand."_

"_What do you mean?" Braden thought, a sick feeling of foreboding pervading him as the voice's words sank in._

"_It means, boy, that if you don't act, I'll have to take matters into my own hands. And if doing so means wresting control from you as I've done in the past, then so be it."_

Aw shit.

_And suddenly, all of the times when he'd been distantly aware of his body acting seemingly of its own accord while he slept, of times when his mind had no control, of wandering off to random places and saying things he didn't understand—all of it—began to make an eerie sense. _

"_It was you! All those times when I was sleepwalking! It was you! You're the reason why I haven't been sleeping!"_

"_It's because you're fighting me," the voice said matter-of-factly. "If you'd simply quit resisting me, things would go much easier for you."_

"_Tell me who you are!" he demanded, hot rage flowing through him at the realization that his body was being hijacked. But the voice was silent, not responding to his angry demands. "I'll keep fighting you! D' ya' hear me? I won't let you win!"_

"_You can't fight me indefinitely—you haven't the strength for it," the voice said quietly._

"_Just watch me," Braden thought back defiantly._

"_As you wish. I know well enough how stubborn a Winchester can be. But know this: in the end, you'll only be hurting yourself."_

Braden woke with a jerk, shooting up in bed with a gasp, his heart feeling as though it was about to burst from his chest.

_Fuck._

A quick look at Aubrey showed that he hadn't woken her, and with a shaky sigh, he dropped back onto his pillow, willing his heart to slow. He ran a trembling hand through sweat-soaked hair, grimacing at the feel of it.

_Aw shit—what the hell just happened? Please tell me that did not just happen. Had to be a dream. Can't be real…can it? _

He tried to shrug it off as just a bad dream, but a sickening sense of dread was filling his stomach, giving him a feeling that it was far from a mere dream. Sweat coated his body, too, an unwelcome reminder of the dream he was trying desperately not to think about. He looked back at Aubrey, wondering whether or not he should wake her.

_But what would I tell her? 'So yeah, Aub, I've got some dude in my head threatening me—oh, and there's a chance I might be losing my effing mind, but don't worry or anything.' Yeah, I don't think so. Shit, maybe I should tell Dad or Dean. _

But as quickly as the idea occurred to him, he discarded it.

_No, I can't. Dad's right—D's got too much on him already. He can't deal with anymore right now. 'sides, he'd just worry, and 's not fair to put anything else on him. And Dad? Dad already eyes me funny sometimes when he thinks I'm not looking. I don't wanna give him another reason to look at me like somethin's wrong with me. Besides, it's sorta the same thing that it was with Aubby—what the hell would I tell them anyway? That I'm hearing some weird-as-hell voice in my head? I don't have any proof that it's anything more than a dream._

Throwing the tangled sheets off, he slid off the bed, shivering as the cool air hit him. Padding to the door, he soundlessly opened it, not shutting it behind him as he silently made his way to the living room.

"Dad?" he whispered.

"Hmm?" John mumbled, blinking his eyes open blearily, not moving from where he was stretched out on the couch.

"Is it ten yet?"

"No. Go back to bed."

"Can I take a shower instead?"

John sighed, rolling over to face Braden with a weary expression.

"I'd rather you get some more sleep, son—your brother said you haven't been sleeping well lately."

"Yeah, I know…but…"

"But what?"

"Um…I had a nightmare…" he told his father, praying his father couldn't sense the half-truth. "I don't wanna sleep anymore. Please, can't I just go ahead and shower? I'll be quiet, and I won't wake D, I promise."

"Yeah, alright. Keep it down. Give everybody at least a couple more hours. You and me—we're gonna talk later."

"Yessir," Braden mumbled, not really looking forward to it, but well aware that his dad wasn't going to let the matter go. John shifted on the couch, closing his eyes once more as Braden turned away. He turned to go back down the hallway as his father's eyes drifted closed again. And it was then that Braden's gaze caught on the backpack that his father had dropped by the door.

_Hmmm…_

He took a silent step towards it, only to cringe when his father spoke.

"Leave it alone, and go take your shower."

_Well shit._

Quietly shutting the bathroom door behind him, he stripped out of his sweaty pajamas, and gratefully stepped into the hot spray of the shower, sighing as the water eased some of the tension in his body. Too bad his mind wasn't so easily subdued. As the water cascaded over him, his thoughts wandered back to the backpack.

_Man, if I could just get a look at what's in there, then maybe I could figure out what the voice was up to—what it made me do. I mean, obviously he had something to do with what happened…and if I can figure out _what_ exactly, then maybe I can figure out _why_. If I can just figure that much out, then maybe I can keep him from getting what he wants. _

But there was a bigger question at stake, he knew, one that wouldn't be so easily answered, and with a sigh he realized that finding out the answer was probably going to be a bigger challenge than he feared.

_What does he want?_

* * *

A/N: Translation of Latin (roughly): "Come at my call, under concealment, come while no one knows of our presence and the senses are unaware. Come in darkness, as I call you now, for in the shadows we flourish." Like I said, I have no illusions that the Latin is grammatically accurate.

Okay, so there you have it—the plot thickens. Anyways, I hope you all will let me know what you think of the chapter! Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

**eggylaine**: So glad that you gave my story a chance, especially since it's not really your type of story. Thanks for the compliment about the long chapters, too—I hate that it takes me longer to update, but I hate short chapters, so I like to think it's worth the extra time to have longer chapters. You can definitely expect to see the POV changes in every chapter, though it's very likely that you won't see many John chapters, at least not any time soon. The focus has shifted to the others, since the issue with Braden is taking center stage—I want John to be separated from things a bit. Anyways, thanks so much for the review! Hope to continue hearing from you!

**Sammyluvr83**: Thanks for reviewing! Glad to hear you're enjoying it!

**Hero Lilly**: Aww, you're so sweet—you write such nice things! Sorry that I kept you waiting for so long, but I hope it was worth the wait! Thanks for reviewing!

**rholou**: You know, I'm quite partial to angsty Dean and hurt Dean as well, so you'll probably continue to see one or the other as the story goes along, with some angsty Braden thrown in for good measure. Oh, and I'm so glad you said you enjoyed the bit about the Sharpies in the last chapter—I thought it was fun, and it was nice to have someone mention it—lol! Anyways, thanks for the review!

**Cowboy Steel**: Glad you found the last chapter worth the wait—what did you think of this one? LOL! Thanks for dropping me a line—I appreciate it!

**PRaCK**: Okay, so you got your wish—Braden's back! What'd you think? Did you like it? New Aubrey chapter coming up next, which sort of delays the Sam chapter I promised, but based on your review, I guess I'm forgiven for that, since you got Braden back. So you have to keep your Sammy alive now! BTW, I'm totally going to get to your Chapter 5 now--I've been trying to finish up this chapter, so I haven't had a chance to beta Chp. 5 for you, but I'm going to get to it ASAP!

**zuimar**: You know, it's funny—I actually love John's character. He's just so brutally honest that it makes for a fun character to write. I dunno, just something about him—I tend to forgive him for his ass-like behavior. You're definitely of the same mind as one of my betas—she calls him a jerk (and worse) all the time—lol! He loves his kids, really, he does, but he doesn't always show it well (if at all). Oh well. Continue to expect that sort of thing from him. I hope you still enjoy the chapters anyway—after all, I'll always have an extra sibling around to make Dean (or whoever) feel better. Thanks for reviewing!

**Jenmm31**: Okay, so I'm so late with this update that not only does the chapter not count as a Christmas present, but it doesn't even count as a New Year's present. And I'm a bit too early for it to count as a Martin Luther King Jr. Day present…so uh…yeah, sorry. I'm also really sorry to have to break the news to you, but…well, Sammy's chapter has gotten pushed back, for at least one more chapter. Aubrey's got a chapter up next—I didn't exactly plan it that way, but I needed a slight delay before Sam's chapter, or this chapter was going to get massive. I wasn't too sure about the Aubrey chapter, but now that I'm about six or seven pages into it, I'm feeling pretty good about it. Anyways, I hope you'll bear with me—don't worry, you'll definitely get Sammy back soon!

**alwaysjensen**: Oh, thanks for reviewing! Don't feel bad about 'being lax' on reviewing—I get the same way with fics that I follow, as much as I hate to admit it. There are just some days when it seems so hard to press that Review Story button. I'm gonna do better, really! Anyways, I'm glad you're enjoying the story! Thanks again for the review!

**irishgirl9**: I'm hoping that John's behavior in this chapter sort of made up for his harshness in the last chapter—hey, he didn't yell at Braden for what happened, so that's progress, right? I actually really like John, so I don't want to make him totally unsympathetic. I think he's a man who deeply cares for his children, but doesn't know the best way to show them. That and it sort of goes back to what Jim told Sam many, many chapters ago—John lives in constant fear that something will take what's left of his family, and he was definitely worried about Braden there in the last chapter. The fear doesn't exactly bring out the best in him…, that's my defense, anyway ;) So did I sort of redeem him in your eyes?

**lblficwriter**: Wow, you read the whole thing in one go?! I hope your posterior didn't go numb—I'm so happy to hear that you enjoyed it so much! I was really touched by all of the lovely compliments you gave me, and I'm incredibly happy that you liked my version of John—I try not to make him too harsh, but some of my readers think he's sort of a jerk. LOL—actually, one of my betas can't stand him! I'm always glad to find someone who shares my love for John. Wow, you wrote so many nice things—I don't know what to respond to first! I guess Dean's my first love, so you'll likely see a lot of Dean angst and a lot of Dean chapters in the future. Braden and Aubrey are a little trickier to write, not so much because they're OCs, but because I aged them up so suddenly. They're at that age where they're still children, but they're also starting to gain that hormonal teenager vibe, and I'm sort of having to figure out their personalities all over again. Dude, it's sort of like going through puberty all over again—LOL! As far as Sam goes, well, he obviously didn't make it into the chapter physically this time around, but I like to think he still has a presence in the story—he'll make it back into the story physically in a few chapters, though, so don't worry! Anyways, thanks again for all that you wrote in your review (which you've probably forgotten by now, since it's been so long), and thanks for taking the time to review!!


	26. Harboring Secrets

A/N: Sorry about the long wait, guys—I've been sick with an upper respiratory infection for over a week, and my beta has been really busy with work. The good news is, I'm already into the next chapter—about 9 pages—so barring further sickness, I could have it done relatively quickly. Anyways, thanks for your patience!

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 26: Harboring Secrets

_Well, that was fun,_ Aubrey thought as she left the table after their late breakfast. With a silent Dean, a pensive John, and a worried Braden, it had been an awkward affair, and Aubrey was more than glad to leave it and the rest of the family sitting at the table as she plopped onto the couch, the latest of her dad's newspapers in her hand. Unfolding it to the crossword puzzle, she grabbed the pen sticking out of her father's journal on the coffee table and stared at the empty boxes with a growing smile.

_Let's see…a five-letter word for…what? Hmm. Oh well. 'Shoes' will work, _she thought, filling the letters into the row of five boxes just waiting for her to fill. _Ooh, and then I can put 'extraordinary' here, I think,_ she mused, carefully counting out the number of letters and comparing it to the number of boxes in eight-down. She set about filling in all of the boxes with words, glancing occasionally at the clues, but more often than not filling in random words that suited her. _It's more fun that way. _

Braden followed suit soon after, leaving the table in pursuit of something a bit less tense than sitting with Dean and their dad when Dean was in a mood. She was aware of him coming towards her, and she was just about to scoot over to make room for him on the couch when John abruptly stood up from the table and stepped forward to intercept him.

"Dean, Aubrey, make yourselves scarce. Braden and I have some things to discuss."

Aubrey looked up to see her father steering Braden back to the table with a firm hand on Braden's shoulder.

"I think I've earned the right to stay," Dean said in a deceptively quiet voice, but Aubrey watched uneasily as her father turned a stern gaze on his oldest son.

"I'm not saying you haven't. But you're not, so don't argue with me—take your sister and go. Give us an hour."

Aubrey sat up, wanting to add a token protest as well, but before she could open her mouth, Dean was angrily shoving his chair back from the table, his jaw tight with barely suppressed anger as he crossed the room.

_Ah, crap._

She scrambled to get off the couch, almost stumbling even as Dean was hauling her up and pushing her to the door. He thrust her coat at her even as he fisted his own and pushed her outside, slamming the door behind him without another word to their father.

"You okay, D?" she asked after a long moment, watching him stare back at the door with a dark look, and she could tell by the way he was holding himself that he was strongly fighting back the urge to hit the door with his fist.

"I'm fine," he bit out.

_Except that you're not. _

He used to hide it better, tucking his anger away behind a careful façade of calmness. But since Sam had left, Dean had to try a lot harder, and lately, he wasn't putting much effort into it anymore.

"You don't look fine," she told him, deciding to see how far she could push him.

"We're not gonna talk about it, Aubrey."

_Okay, not far at all. Backing off. Besides, we're wasting time. _

"Okay, fine," she told him with a careless shrug. Turning on her heel, she began to walk around the corner of the building, pulling her coat on as she glanced back over her shoulder to see her brother watching her with a frown. "Are you comin' or not?" she called back, staring back at him with a raised eyebrow of her own, certainly one to match his.

"Where're you going?"

"Uh, hello? To eavesdrop, obviously. Now hurry up, will ya'? We're gonna miss the opening lines of Dad's salvo."

He eyed her for a second before he heaved a sigh and followed her, silently trailing her around the corner and into the mass of shrubbery that sat conveniently under the kitchen window. His large frame settled uneasily into the small space, practically squashing her as the crouched under the window. Elbowing him accidentally, she whispered an apology as he scowled at her even as she pushed her hand under one of the shrubs, her fingers raking through the dirt until she found the hilt of the pocket knife she and Braden kept there for just such occasions.

"So uh, you and Bray—you do this a lot?"

"Yeah—how else are we gonna learn anything? You and Daddy hardly tell us jack. Now, move over—I need some space," she whispered, trying to get a better stance as he slid the blade open.

"Where the fuck do you expect me to move? I don't exactly have a lot of room here," he said in a soft undertone, grimacing when her knee dug into the top of his shoulder as she struggled to get some semblance of balance before sliding the blade ever-so-carefully into the small space between the window and the sill. With a quiet _snick_, the window lock slid into the "unlock" position, and that quickly, Aubrey dropped down, practically falling on top of her brother clumsily.

"Good job, Grace," he said with a slight grin, and she smacked his shoulder out of annoyance before motioning with her head to the window.

"You'll hafta raise the window—it sticks sometimes and I can't get good enough leverage," she told him softly, not mentioning that the only reason she couldn't get good enough leverage was because she was short. Not that Dean wouldn't have already figured that out anyway. It was sort of a sore point with her, being the only Winchester currently measuring under 5'10" tall. Okay, to be honest, she wasn't even measuring 5'5" at this point. But she didn't want to think about it too much.

_Why'd Braden hafta go and grow so much anyway? Stupid boys. Daddy shoulda had more girls. Then maybe I'd have a shot at not being the only short person in the family._

It was all water under the bridge though—it wasn't like Daddy could do anything about it anyway. He kept trying to tell her that she still had some growing to do, but she pretty much doubted she'd get much taller than her current 5'2", a height that she'd inherited solely from her mother, whose petite size had obviously been enough to ruin any chance of Aubrey inheriting any of the Winchester tall-genes.

She was promptly brought back to the here-and-now when Dean nudged her, obviously asking for room to maneuver. Pulling her knees up to her chest and scootching over as much as she could, she stifled a grunt when he accidentally stepped on her hand.

_This is so much easier with Bray, even if he is gettin' taller._ Braden was tall, sure—what Winchester male wasn't—but he didn't have the bulk that Dean did.

"Just a crack, D," she whispered as he carefully began to force the window up. "It squeaks if you open it more than two inches, and Daddy'll hear it."

With a nod, Dean complied before slowing dropping back beside her, putting his back against the cement wall of the apartment building and settling in to listen as their father's voice suddenly drifted out of the apartment through the now open kitchen window.

"Braden—I don't want any bullshit answers. I wanna know where you got all this, because except for the damn candles, this isn't shit you can pick up at the local Walmart. Now where did it come from?"

"Dad, I don't know," he said with a tired sigh. "'s like I told you—I don't even remember gettin' the backpack, nevermind all the shit inside. Hell, I didn't even notice the backpack until that cop pointed it out last night."

"Well, even if you don't know where exactly it came from, why don't you tell me what kinds of places in town even sell this kind of shit."

"Um…I don't know," Braden replied softly.

"Dammit, Braden!"

"Dad, I'm sorry—I don't know where it came from, and I don't know where to find this stuff! Hell, Dad, _you_ know more than I do about occult stores in this town."

"Fine, so you don't know where all of this came from. Do you know how dangerous some of this shit is?!"

"Yessir," Braden mumbled, and Aubrey shared a worried look with Dean, more than concerned now.

"_What was in the bag?" _Dean mouthed at her, a frown wrinkling his brow, but she didn't know much more than he did, so she shrugged and turned her attention back to her twin. Sure, he'd told her a few things, but nothing she could actually remember.

"What do you know about these things, son?" their father was asking Braden.

"Well…the um...the herbs are usually used for spells…um…usually summoning rituals…"

He trailed off, and Aubrey felt a sick feeling tighten her stomach, a feeling she was pretty sure she was sharing with her twin brother.

_Oh, man, what were you doing, Bray? This isn't good._

"And the oil?"

"Pretty much the same," Braden murmured dejectedly.

"Dammit, Braden! Do you even know what you did?"

"Nosir," he said softly, sighing dejectedly.

"Son, you can't play around with shit like this! It's fucking dangerous—you don't know what you could end up summoning! "

"'s not like I meant to do _anything_—d' ya' think I _wanted_ to wander off in the middle of the damn night and leave Aubrey by herself at that stupid party?"

"First of all, you watch your tone when you talk to me, little boy. If there is one thing I don't tolerate, it's disrespect, and you are toeing the line."

"Yessir."

Aubrey heard her dad sigh, obviously trying to rein in his temper before he continued.

"Alright, look, do you think you could get us back to where you were last night?"

"Um…maybe," Braden said uncertainly, and Aubrey bit her lip, glancing at Dean to see a pensive look on his face.

"Get your coat."

And that was that. Aubrey slumped back against the wall, leaning her head against Dean's shoulder as she heard the apartment door shut with a resounding bang.

"Un-believable," Dean bit out, his face dark with anger.

"What's wrong?"

"I've been dealing with Braden's sleepwalking shit for weeks now—hell, let's be fucking honest here—I've been dealing with it for _years_, and Dad's gonna just fucking leave me here, like some kid who doesn't need to be told a damn thing! And let's not kid ourselves here, Aubrey!" he forced out angrily, "You and I both know he's not gonna bother to tell either of us jack shit about whatever it is that he finds!"

"He might tell _you,_" she said consolingly, but Dean wasn't having any of it.

"Don't, Aubrey. Just fucking don't."

A few years ago, she knew, Dean never would've said anything—he'd have just sucked it up and pretended nothing was wrong. But then, a few years ago, things had been different. Sam had still been around, and even though he and their dad had fought like cats and dogs all the time, it had still been better.

_Sort of. _

She pushed the thought away, not wanting to acknowledge that, with Sam gone, at least things were a little more peaceful. Acknowledging it, even in her head just seemed like a betrayal of Dean, because for sure, while things might have gotten better for the most part, things had definitely gotten worse for Dean.

_Yeah, so maybe he's not always having to get in between Sam and Daddy, but at least with Sam here, Dean was happy, even if Sam and Daddy weren't._

Aubrey supposed that for Dean, losing Sam was a lot like losing Braden would be for her—devastating in a how-the-hell-do-you-recover sort of way. Dean and Sam weren't twins, she knew, but she sort of thought Dean had the type of bond with Sam that Aubrey could only understand in terms of the bond she had with Braden.

How Sam could so easily ignore it, though, Aubrey couldn't even guess.

"You know," Dean began after a tense moment, "sometimes, it's pretty damn easy to see why Sammy left," he said, his voice deceptively soft as he moved to stand.

Fear hit her like a Mack truck going seventy down the Interstate, and she threw her arms around him, grabbing on as though he might disappear at any moment.

"Please don't leave us, too, Dean!" she begged him, starting to cry into the soft leather of his jacket as she hugged him tight. Sam leaving had been bad enough, but for Dean to leave, too—the thought was unbearable. He shifted in her grasp, returning the hug, and as he brought his arms up around her, she could feel the tension slowly easing from his body.

"Promise you won't leave?" she pleaded, afraid to let go, even though she knew that if Dean wanted to go, she wouldn't be able to stop him.

"Promise," he told her softly, and no matter how angry he was at the world, at their dad, at their brother, she knew he meant it. "Now, what do you say we get out of the damn shrubs," he joked, obviously trying to put an end to the chick-flick vibe of the moment.

"'kay," she said, releasing him and reaching up to wipe the tears from her face, well enough aware that the sight of her crying was always enough to make her oldest brother intensely uncomfortable.

"I probably look like a fucking moron, sittin' here in the bushes with my kid sister like I'm twelve or some shit."

"Probably?" she asked with a chuckle, quirking an eyebrow at him as she cast a watery grin back at him, her fear ebbing as Dean's ever-constant presence began to reassure her. Like it always did.

"Shut-up," he grumbled good-naturedly. "Smartass. Now move it."

With one last smile, she grabbed his shoulder and used it to get to her feet, shuffling past him and out of the high shrubbery, hearing him mutter swear words under his breath as the brambles pulled at him.

"Go get in the car," he said from behind her, even as he jerked his arm free of the last tangle of leaves.

"Where we goin'?"

"I want some pie."

"We just ate, though," she pointed out, but he paid her no mind as he pulled his keys from his pocket and headed for the driver's side door of his precious Impala.

"Aubrey, Aubrey, Aubrey—haven't I taught you anything? There's _always_ room for pie."

_Oh, yeah. Silly me. Pie is crack for Dean—how could I forget? _

"Besides," he continued, "I'm tired of being pissed off, and I'm tired of being tired—I need some pie."

She had to admit, pie _did_ sound pretty good right about then, so without a word, she slid into the Impala, scooting into the passenger's seat and pulling the seatbelt over her waist as she smiled back at her oldest brother.

_Yeah, pie is good comfort food._

* * *

They were sitting on the couch sharing quite a few different flavors of pie when the door opened and her father and Braden walked back in. One look at their faces was enough to have her stomach churning with anxiety, and beside her, she could feel Dean stiffen, his body tense as he set the now forgotten pie down on the coffee table.

_Whatever it is, it's bad,_ she thought, catching Braden's downcast eyes. _What happened?_

"Dean, come with me. Aubrey, you and Braden start packing. We need to move—now," John said tightly, already moving towards the duffel he'd dropped by the couch the night before, even as Braden slipped silently out of the room.

"Where are we going?" Dean asked, his face wrinkling in confusion, climbing to his feet slowly.

"I need your help with something. Leave your keys so the twins can load up while we're gone."

"But, what is it? What's going on?"

"Quit asking questions and go get in the damn truck—we don't have time for this right now!" John barked, and Aubrey looked from her father's worried, angry face to her brother's just in time to see the blank mask drop over Dean's features, and if Aubrey didn't know him as well as she did, she'd never know how angry and hurt he was by their father's angry dismissal. Dean brushed past her and headed outside, slamming the door behind him, even as their dad stared after him with a regretful, weary sigh and hefted his duffel onto his shoulder.

"Get everything packed up as quickly as you can. Stack everything by the door, and we'll load up as soon as your brother and I get back."

"But where are you—" she started to ask, but he was closing the door behind him before she could finish. _Not that he woulda told me anything anyway…_She turned to ask Braden, but he'd already disappeared into the bedroom to pack their meager belongings.

Hurrying into the bedroom she shared with Braden, she dragged her bags out from under her bed and started lifting her carefully folded clothes from her drawers and into the first of her duffel bags, eyeing her twin brother surreptitiously from the corner of her eye as he shuffled things around in his own bag to fit more clothes.

"What happened, Bray? Were you able to find where you were last night?"

"Yeah."

"So how come Daddy's all freaked out? Why are we leavin'?"

"We found something," he murmured, not looking up from where he was meticulously but quickly packing his clothes.

"What was it?"

He was quiet for a long moment, and Aubrey stilled, a sense of disquiet filling her as she looked up to see a look on Braden's face that sent a shiver of answering fear shooting through her.

"Bray?"

"There was this guy there, Aubby, and…he was dead. His neck was broken. Dad needed Dean to help him get rid of the body," he told her softly.

"Oh," she whispered.

"Aubby," he said, suddenly looking up at her with a stricken expression. "Aubby, what if I killed him?"

"Braden, you wouldn't," she told him, crossing to him and hugging him tightly. "Daddy and Dean will take care of everything—it'll be okay," she told him softly.

"We'd better hurry up—they'll be back soon, and Dad'll expect us to be ready," Braden said, stepping back, and from the stiff way he held himself, Aubrey knew that it was taking all of his willpower to not cry.

Silently, they finished packing their clothes, and Aubrey zipped the last of her duffels and heaved it haphazardly toward the door for someone else to carry to the car.

"Bray, if you'll pack Dean's stuff up, I'll finish packing ours," she told him, heading for the closet to drag out the empty boxes they kept there for just such occasions. Braden nodded and headed for Dean's room, already well familiarized with where their oldest brother stashed his things and how he wanted them packed.

While he was busy in the other room, Aubrey began to pack their 'extra junk' into the first box, knowing she had to do it just right if they were going to fit it all into the one box. Their dad only let them have the one for the stuff that wasn't clothes or weapons—they didn't have room for more than that. So her small CD player and headphones, Braden's sketchbooks and colored pencils, the hamster food and clean cedar shavings, and anything else they'd managed to accumulate in the month or so they'd been there were all carefully wedged into the box for maximum space saving.

Aubrey wasn't sure how long they were at it—she had moved on to the kitchen while Braden had moved on to the bathroom, and the pile of boxes and duffels at the door was sizable—when the front door opened and her father walked in with Dean a step behind him. They both had the familiar smell of accelerant, smoke, and dirt clinging to them, and Dean was already moving towards the bathroom, grabbing up his duffel along the way. And judging by the look on his face, whatever had gone down while they were gone was pretty bad.

"Braden, come help me start loading boxes—Dean can take over after he showers."

With a nod, Braden abandoned the box he was stacking towels and dishes in and headed for the door, grabbing up a box and following his father out to the truck to start loading. Dean took their father's place about fifteen minutes later, wordlessly loading boxes and bags into the truck and the Impala's trunk, and as much as Aubrey wanted to ask about what had happened, she knew better than to push when Dean had that hooded look in his eyes.

"Braden, go finish helping your sister with the packing—Dean and I can get the rest of this," she heard her father say as he reappeared after his own shower, grabbing up another box and disappearing outside. A second later, Braden approached, grabbing up the giant trash-bag Aubrey was using to discard the perishables from the fridge.

_Leave no trace behind—one of the Winchester family mottos._

They skipped lunch in order to finish up the packing, and by 4:30, Aubrey and Braden were finishing the final 'make-sure-we-didn't-leave-anything-behind' walkthrough.

"Hey, you two about finished in here? Cause if you're riding with Dean, you'd better go let him know—he's loading up now."

Aubrey stepped back, looking up at her brother to see what he wanted to do, leaving it up to him for once. He nodded in lieu of an answer, and Aubrey ran for the front door, looking out to see Dean loading his duffels into the trunk of the Impala.

"Dean, me and Bray wanna ride with you—wait for us, okay?!" she hollered, ducking back inside before he could refuse, hurrying back to grab the last of their things. She knew he wouldn't drive off without them, but she also knew that he wasn't exactly the most patient person, and if they made him wait too long, he would definitely make them pay later.

"Hurry, Bray—he's almost ready to go," she said.

"Get Lucy—I'll get your bag," Braden told her, and Aubrey frowned at the subdued tone before reluctantly climbing to her feet to fetch the hamster cage.

"Daddy, I'm puttin' Lucy in your truck, okay?" she yelled, peeking into the cage to check on the small blonde-colored hamster before starting for the door.

"That's fine," John yelled back. "While you're at it, tell your brother to take his Dramamine—we're gonna be on the road for awhile."

"'kay!" she replied as she hurried outside and carefully lifted the cage onto the passenger seat of her father's truck. "Dean, we're almost done," she told her oldest brother as he finished loading the last of the weapons into the hidden compartment of the trunk.

"Grab my skateboard, would ya'?" Braden asked as he hefted the box labeled 'Stuff—Aub and Bray' into his arms and started outside with it and her bag.

"'kay. Oh, and Daddy said to take your Dramamine," she told him as she picked up his skateboard from its spot in the corner.

"Aw shit," Braden muttered, dropping the box onto the floor and kicking it towards the door.

"What's wrong?"

"You know what that stuff does to me—it turns me into a freakin' zombie. You know it'll make me sleep for hours. And now…now, I don't wanna sleep."

"Isn't that better than puking for the next three hundred miles?"

"I'm not so sure anymore," he said softly, shouldering past her as he headed for the door.

_Well in that case, somebody'd better grab a bucket or somethin'—it's gonna be a long ride._

* * *

An hour and forty-five minutes into the drive, things were getting pretty bad, and Aubrey could tell that what was left of Dean's meager patience was rapidly deteriorating.

"What the hell is wrong with the Dramamine? It usually works a hell of a lot faster than this, even when you don't take it thirty minutes before the trip like it says to! Is it fucking expired or what?" Dean yelled after Braden threw up for…well, Aubrey had lost count of how many times it was now. Actually, Braden wasn't even really throwing up anymore, she decided as she watched him dry heave into the emesis basin in his lap. He looked absolutely miserable, and, Aubrey had to admit, sitting in the backseat with him as he puked wasn't all that pleasant for her either.

"Bray, c'mon, why don't you go ahead and take the Dramamine now?" she whispered, thinking she was being discreet.

"You have gotta be fucking kidding me!" Dean roared suddenly, and Aubrey winced.

_Dang it._

"Did you seriously get in to my car without taking anything to keep you from throwing up all over the interior?!"

"I didn't want it," Braden choked out, spitting into the basin weakly as he fought back a gag.

"Dammit, Braden! Aubrey, get up here and look in the glove compartment for some Dramamine. Is there still a bottle of water back there?" he asked heatedly.

"Um…"

She shuffled her pillows around, reaching a hand down to blindly search the floorboard for the missing bottle of water.

"It's around here, somewhere," she mumbled, tossing two of her pillows up into the front seat before bending over to take another look.

"Nevermind, Aubrey! Just get up here and find the Dramamine—Braden can swallow it dry if he has to," Dean said with growing exasperation.

"I don't wanna—" Braden started to gasp between heaves.

"Stow it, Braden—you're gonna take it."

"No, I'm not."

"I'm not going through this stupid teenage hormonal rebellion shit with you—you're taking the damn Dramamine."

"No, I don't want to!" Braden yelled back weakly, sounding to Aubrey more like a tired and cranky five-year-old than her fourteen-year-old brother, but she supposed to Dean, the two sounded surprisingly similar.

"Braden, you're taking the fucking Dramamine if I have to force it down your damn throat—I'm not driving all the way to wherever the hell Dad is leading us with you hurling in the back seat!"

"Please, D, I don't wanna take it," Braden begged, even as he spit again and slumped back against the seat.

"Too bad. Aubrey, get the Dramamine," Dean said, his tone leaving no room for argument, and with a regretful look at her twin, she unbuckled her seatbelt and crawled over the seat to fetch the Dramamine.

"I won't let you go anywhere," she whispered to Braden as she opened the travel-size bottle of pills. "I promise. I'll make sure you stay."

"Just gimme half a dose," he whispered back, glancing forward to make sure Dean didn't hear. She nodded, pouring one pill into the palm of her hand and passing it to him.

Roughly half-an-hour later, Braden was looking decidedly blissed out in the backseat, gazing contentedly at the back of Dean's head. Realizing she'd lost any potential for semi-decent conversation in her twin, she unbuckled her seatbelt and crawled over the seat, wincing when she left a light footprint on the front seat.

_Oops. Maybe he didn't notice…_

She looked up to see Dean glance down at the footprint before aiming a dark scowl at her.

"I know you didn't just put your dirty-ass shoes on my baby's front seat," Dean said, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

"Sorry, D. I'll clean it off—I'll even use that special cleaner stuff you got," she offered, casting an apologetic look at her oldest brother.

"You're damn right you will," Dean replied, frowning down at the footprint as though it was an absolute offense to him.

"What's with you? I said I was sorry—you could try to be nice, you know?" she said, matching his scowl with one of her own.

"Aubrey, I just spent my morning in the middle of fucking nowhere, helping Dad get rid of a fucking body that hadn't been dead long enough to burn clean, if you know what I mean. So yeah, I could try to be nice, but the truth is, I really don't give a damn right now. So why don't you give me a fucking break already and leave me the hell alone."

"Fine," she sneered, rolling her eyes as she pulled the seatbelt on and slumped back, her arms crossed over her chest. "Jerk."

_Bitch._ The word hung there in the air, all the more cutting because it went unsaid, the companion word to Dean's favored term of endearment.

"Don't," Dean said coldly, and Aubrey winced.

_Dang it. _

That had always been Sam's insult. Truth was, Aubrey wasn't all that great when it came to the insult wars and usually left that to her brothers. She didn't cuss all that much, and that predilection alone limited her in the insult wars. On the rare occasion when she _did _get involved, she usually had to steal someone else's material. So using Sam's line had come naturally, but she knew the second it came out of her mouth that it was a mistake.

"Sorry," she mumbled again, feeling bad that she'd reminded Dean of Sam again.

Those occasions never ended well.

Eager to cut the tension now permeating the car, she leaned forward and turned the volume on the radio back up, cringing when Led Zeppelin filtered through the speakers.

_Ugh. _

She turned the dial, hoping Dean wouldn't protest, and when he didn't say anything, she smiled and flipped through the stations, sitting back contentedly when she found one that was playing country music.

_Yes!_

"Oh _hell_ no," Dean said, leaning forward to flip it back to Led Zeppelin.

"Aw, c'mon, D—it's Rascal Flatts!" she begged.

"I don't care who it is—I'm not listening to country music."

"Yeah, well, Led Zeppelin sucks—I don't wanna listen to that either."

"Tough. You know the rules—driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."

"You know what Daddy said—he says that's an unfair rule until me and Bray can drive."

"Well, Dad's not here, is he?"

"Dean! C'mon! You're being totally unfair!"

"You say that like it should bother me," he said, tuning her out as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music.

_Fine. If you wanna play it that way…_

Grabbing the cell phone she shared with Braden out of her pocket, she flipped it open and hit 'Contacts' scrolling down until she came to 'Daddy,' before holding the phone up to her ear as it began to ring.

"_Yeah?"_

"Aubrey, what the hell are you doing?" Dean asked, turning a narrowed gaze on her, which she completely ignored as she spoke into the phone.

"Daddy? It's me. Can we stop for food soon? D's gettin' irritable."

"Dammit, Aubrey—quit bugging Dad and get off the damn phone," Dean bit out, his annoyance an almost tangible thing.

"_We'll stop in about an hour," _ her dad was saying. _"Just try and give him a break. He's tired, and hunger only makes it worse."_

"You make him sound like a cranky three-year-old," she replied with a chuckle, ignoring her older brother, who was fuming in the seat beside her.

"Aubrey, I swear…"

"_Tell Dean I said to cool it—his temper's starting to get the better of him, and he needs to rein it in. We've got enough problems as it is."_

"Dean, Dad says to cool it and rein it in—your temper is gettin' the better of you."

"Well, here's an idea—if it bothers you so fucking much, why don't you go ride with Dad and leave me the hell alone with my damn temper then?!" Dean said hotly.

"Do you hear how cranky he is?" she told her dad, shifting to lean against the door.

"_Alright, enough—he's upset, and you're just pissing him off. Quit it."_

"What, all I'm saying is that he's being moody—it's not my fault that he's being a jerk and making the ride miserable."

"If you don't hang up the damn phone, I'm gonna fucking lose it," Dean growled, his hands tightening around the steering wheel.

Braden reached out and plucked the phone from her hands before Aubrey could hear her father's response.

"Dad? D'you say we were gonna stop soon?" Braden asked, his words slurring a bit with the Dramamine induced fatigue that had hit him about an hour before. The half-dose had left him drowsy, but not as comatose as the full-dose normally did, and while he was still looking slightly queasy, he hadn't thrown up anymore, so Aubrey concluded that progress was being made. "Dean's bein' an asshole," Braden went on to tell their father bluntly.

_Then again, maybe not, _she thought, wincing as she watched Dean's jaw clench angrily, his eyes narrowing alarmingly. _Maybe the half-dose wasn't such a good idea after all. _ _I mean, yeah, he's not puking anymore, but I think it's made him stupid, too. _

Normally, Braden wasn't one to pop off with whatever smart-aleck comment occurred to him—he was usually more discrete, and if Aubrey was honest, she, not Braden, was usually the one who pushed it too far. But along with making Braden's nausea disappear, the Dramamine seemed to have made the filter between his brain and his mouth disappear, too.

And that quickly, Dean appeared to have finally reached the end of his endurance. He pulled off onto the shoulder in a spray of gravel and turned to face the twins with a dark scowl.

"We're done. Get your shit—you can ride with Dad."

Aubrey opened her mouth to argue, even as John pulled over a few hundred feet ahead, but Braden beat her to the punch.

"Why you gotta be so mean? 's not our fault that Dad's been pissy with you."

"Braden, shut-up," she hissed, pulling the phone out of his hand and shutting it, stuffing it into her pocket as she tugged Braden out of the car. Leaning back inside, she grabbed as many of her pillows as she could, thrusting them into Braden's arms before reaching for her backpack.

"Sorry, Dean," she muttered, casting an apologetic look at their older brother before shutting the car door and pushing Braden towards their dad's truck.

"Somethin's got his panties in a bunch," Braden grumbled, but Aubrey shook her head.

"I shouldn'ta called Daddy—I knew it was gonna tick him off."

"So then why did you?"

"I dunno, I was bored," she said with a shrug. "Besides, I didn't know he was gonna get _that_ mad—I woulda stopped if I'd known he was gonna pull over and make us get out."

"Sure called that one wrong, didn't you?"

"You're the one that called him an asshole, not me," she countered, opening the door to their dad's truck and climbing inside.

"Well you're the one who started it in the first place," Braden threw back at her, but before she could reply, John cleared his throat pointedly.

"Enough. Get in, buckle up, and shut it."

"She started it," Braden muttered.

"Yeah? Well, I'm finishing it. I don't want another word out of either of you until we stop, understood?"

"But, Daddy—"

"I mean it. The two of you provoked your brother enough that he pulled the damn car over—"

"Only because Braden called him an asshole," Aubrey pointed out defensively. "'s'not our fault he's pissed off all the time."

"I don't wanna hear it! You know damn good and well that Dean's been on a hair-trigger since Sam left, and you also know that if you push him when he's in the kind of mood he's been in since last night, it's only gonna piss him off. Knowing all of that, you decided to keep on anyway—not your best idea. So you sit there, and you keep your mouth closed, and you think about that for awhile."

Aubrey fell silent, sharing a look with Braden before she slumped back against the seat, propping up a pillow in between her shoulder and Braden's before dropping her head on it with a sigh.

_This is so stupid. A few years ago, Dean would've just shoveled it back at me if I was givin' him crap about something. _

But things were different now, and as much as she hated to admit it, her dad was right—she _did _know that Dean had been on a hair-trigger, she _did_ know he was in a rotten mood, and there really _was_ no one to blame but herself for getting kicked out of the car.

_Dang it._

Braden grabbed one of the other pillows, breaking into her train of thought as he wadded it up between himself and the door before following suit.

"Need to rest my eyes," Braden murmured almost silently into her ear. "Jus' don't lemme fall asleep."

"Bray, you look like death," she mouthed back, using the sound of her father's music to mask the slight whisper of her words. "Just sleep for a bit. I'm here, and Daddy's here—it'll be fine."

He stared back at her, considering her words before reluctantly conceding that she was right. She leaned against him, staring at the road before them as Braden slowly succumbed to sleep, his body finally going limp on the seat beside her.

"Daddy?" she whispered.

"What?"

"Can we just wait a little while before we stop?"

"I thought you wanted to eat soon."

"Yeah…but Bray's asleep, and…well, he's tired. And since we're not buggin' D anymore…couldn't we just keep drivin' for a bit?"

John was silent for a moment, considering, before he finally nodded.

"Alright."

"Thanks."

For awhile, it was quiet except for the sound of Johnny Cash on the radio and Braden's soft breathing next to her.

"Daddy?"

"What, baby?"

"I'm tired," she told him wearily, not even certain where the words were coming from as they spilled from her mouth and into the silence.

"I think we all are, Aubrey," he said softly, ruffling her hair before laying a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "Why don't you take a page from your brother's book and nap for a bit?"

"You won't let anything happen, will you, Daddy?"

"What are you talkin' about?"

"Nothin'," she said hastily, casting a guilty look at Braden from the corner of her eye before leaning against her father's shoulder, biting her lip.

"Aubrey."

"I'm just worried about Bray, that's all."

Except it wasn't as simple as that, she knew. But what else could she say? Braden didn't want their dad to know how scared he was to sleep, how scared he was that something else might happen if he did. And even if she wanted to tell, she knew she couldn't, not when Braden was depending on her to keep quiet.

"Yeah, baby girl," her father told her softly. "I won't let anything happen."

And that was all the guarantee that she needed. She closed her eyes, and was asleep in minutes, breathing in the familiar smells of Old Spice and her father's leather coat.

* * *

Aubrey wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep when the sound of her father's voice began to intrude on the warm comfort of just-after-sleep-but-not-quite-awake, and she wanted nothing more than to ignore it and go back to sleep. But John Winchester's was not a voice that could easily be ignored, so Aubrey found her eyes beginning to flutter open as awareness began to return. It took her a few minutes more to realize that he wasn't talking to her or Braden—he was on the phone.

"The shit he had in that bag, Bobby—I'm tellin' you, it scares the hell outta me. I don't even know what some of it's used for… …yeah, he knew enough to know that some of it was used for summoning, but as for exactly _what_ he might have summoned with it, we don't have a damn clue… …yeah, we banged outta there pretty fast—if whatever he called killed that man—of course I've considered it, Bobby! I'm not a fucking idiot! But I'd rather not think about what it would mean if my youngest son killed some guy… …shit, Bobby," he said with a weary sigh. "There's too many pieces to the damn puzzle, and I'm working blind here… …nah, there's not much you can do…guess I just needed to vent. Nah, we're gonna stop off in Lincoln for what looks like a quick salt-and-burn, and then we're gonna head on up to Seattle—there's something going on there that I wanna check out…"

_Aww, not Seattle! I hate Seattle. Dang it._

"Yeah, okay," John said, ending the call with the same abruptness that he ended most social interactions, tossing the phone carelessly onto the dash before turning the radio back on.

"Daddy? You don't really think that Bray killed that guy, do you?" she asked softly, glancing over at her brother who was slumped against the door, asleep.

"I don't know _what_ to think anymore," he told her, rubbing a hand over his jaw wearily.

"But, Daddy, he wouldn't do that, I know it," she protested, but he shook his head, cutting her off.

"I don't like to think it either, Aubrey, but the fact is, we don't know what he might have done when he was out there. We need some time to try and get a handle on this."

Beside her, Braden suddenly shifted, a whimpered "No, don't!" escaping him before he jerked awake with a gasp.

"You alright, son?" John asked, glancing away from the road long enough to cast a concerned look at Braden.

"Yessir," Braden mumbled, rubbing at his eyes as he fought to get his breathing under control.

"Bad dream?"

"Yessir."

"What did you dream about?"

Braden shrugged, and sensing he didn't want to talk about it, Aubrey quickly intervened, changing the subject.

"Daddy, do we _have_ to go to Seattle? I mean, seriously—it sucks out loud there."

"Yeah, well, there's a possible hunt there that I wanna look into. I've gotta do some research, first, but I think it'll be some good downtime for _all_ of us."

"But it's cold in Seattle! And rainy! Can't we have some downtime somewhere else?" she begged, well aware that she was getting awfully close to whining, but willing to toe the line if it meant a chance at not going to Seattle.

"That's what jackets are for—suck it up."

And to a practical man like John Winchester, that was answer enough.

_Dang it. Why can't we ever go someplace warm, like Florida? Or dry, like Arizona? I mean, there's gotta be things to kill in warm places, too. This sucks out loud._

"Aubrey, don't pout—it's unattractive," her dad told her, nudging her pointedly.

"Fine," she grumbled, her face still twisted in a scowl.

"Dad?" Braden broke in, pulling their dad's attention away from her the same way she did for him moments before. "Can I look at your journal?"

"Yeah. You know the rules—don't read the personal shit at the beginning, and don't let anything fall out of it."

"'kay."

"Aubrey, call your brother and let him know we're gonna stop for some chow at the next exit that advertises food."

She complied without arguing, reaching for her dad's cell phone on the dash and speed-dialing her older brother. She relayed the information, glad to hear Dean sounding less like angry-Dean and more like the old fun, sarcastic-Dean. At least that hadn't changed—Dean never stayed mad at them for long.

"Daddy?" she asked as she hung up the phone and set it back on the dash, "can I get my hair straightened?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"My hair. Don't you think it would look _so_ pretty if it was straight?"

"It looks fine the way it is," he told her, a hint of finality in his voice that brought a frown to her face.

_Dang it._

She eyed the long, dark, wavy locks draped over her shoulder with a scowl, wishing not for the first time that she'd gotten her mother's stick-straight hair rather than the thick waves that she obviously got from her father, whose dark hair had grown out long enough again to show a trace of what was more obvious in her much longer hair.

_Yeah, easy for you to ignore it, Daddy—all you have to do is cut yours short and then you don't have to deal with it anymore. I'd just look stupid if I cut mine. _

"Maybe for your birthday," John said gruffly, interrupting her train of thought.

"Sir?"

"Your hair. Birthday's comin' up soon—maybe then."

"Oh, thanks, Daddy!"

"I didn't say _yes_, Aubrey—I said _maybe_."

"Sure, okay."

_But you really mean yes,_ she thought, hiding a smile, because sometimes her father could be pretty dang easy to manipulate when it came to the more girly things. She guessed it was because he just didn't know what to do when she asked him about anything involving hair, make-up, or any of the numerous girl-issues that had long ago been labeled 'uncomfortable and therefore mostly non-discussable'.

That was why she was pretty sure he was going to cave in and let her straighten her hair, because even if it didn't come down to his desire to avoid listening to her complain, it meant that letting her have her way for her birthday would save him the hassle of trying to come up with something on his own. It was something that had never come easy for him, buying girl-appropriate gifts. That first birthday that she and Braden had had with their dad had been a disaster, she remembered, crushed as she was by the four-inch knife her father had given her instead of the princess Barbie she'd been begging him for for months. Dean, at least, had tried, giving her a GI Joe doll—complete with knife, pistol, dog-tags, and M-16—to replace the Ken doll that had mysteriously had his head ripped off the day before the twins' birthday. Their dad had been trying a lot harder ever since then, but Aubrey was still never quite sure what she could expect on gift-giving holidays.

Satisfied that she could expect to get her hair straightened on her birthday, she turned back to her brother, peering around his shoulder to see what page he was looking at.

'_Disembodied voices?'_ _Why's he reading that?_

"Bray, what are you—" An elbow in her side cut her off, and she switched gears immediately. "…gonna eat for lunch? Or is it really dinner now, since it's kinda late?" she asked, praying that she sounded natural even as she cast a quick glance at their father to see if he'd noticed the slip.

"Cheeseburger," Braden muttered, his eyes following hers to their father before he silently flipped the page, pretending, Aubrey knew, to peruse the pages seemingly without purpose. Aubrey held her breath, waiting to see what her dad would do, but John didn't look over, instead glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure Dean was following as he veered onto the exit ramp.

_Okay, close call. Braden better start talking when I get him somewhere alone, because I wanna know what the crap is going on, dang it! _

Braden's eyes met hers and he gave her an almost imperceptible shake of his head, leaving Aubrey to decode the message in his silent gestures.

"_Later."_

_Okay, Bray. _

And with a sigh, she settled back against the seat, an uneasy feeling sinking into her stomach that whatever it was, it was gonna be just one more in a growing list of secrets she was harboring for her twin brother.

_Please, God, don't let this all come back to haunt me._

* * *

A/N: Thanks for all of your reviews and the encouragement—you guys are awesome!

**Jenmm31**: Okay, so I know this wasn't the Sammy chapter you were hoping for, and the bad news is, neither is Chapter 26. I had to delay again, because things were moving faster than I wanted/could handle. But I hope you still enjoyed the chapter anyway! I did at least let you know what was in the backpack—do I get points for that? Anyways, a Dean chapter is next, but after that, I should be in prime position for the Sammy chapter. Hope you'll stay tuned! Thanks for reviewing!

**Sammyluvr83**: Thanks for sending a review! So what did you think of the John and Braden discussion scene?

**eggylaine**: Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you feel like the story is worth waiting for, because I certainly leave you guys waiting (far longer than I want to—it's not intentional). I've actually been sick for a week, so I lost some time, and my beta has been really busy with work lately…anyways, I hope you were happy to see this chapter waiting in your inbox as well! Let me know what you think!

**zuimar**: It's so nice to hear that people are excited to see a chapter waiting in their inboxes. It makes me happy! Anyways, I know this wasn't quite the speedy update you were hoping for—sorry about the wait. But if it makes you feel better, I'm about nine pages into the next chapter already—it's a Dean chapter—and I know where I'm going with it. Stay tuned for more of the Braden mystery!

**PRACK**: Okay, so this chapter was more of a 'pissed-off Dean' than an 'angsty, upset Dean,' but don't worry—you'll get both in the next chapter! I think you'll like it! And dude, if it worked in the mutual AU's that we've created, I would totally pull Naomi in. Unfortunately, mixing our worlds this late in the game would probably be a disaster. Oh well—we can still dream. LOL!

**rholou**: So glad you liked the Braden POV. I think the twins kinda get the shaft sometimes when it comes to dividing up the chapter POVs equally. Granted, now that they're older, it's easier to do chapters from their views—they fit into the story better now. Of course, now John isn't getting any "air time," and I don't necessarily see that changing any time soon. I like John, but I don't see his POV working in anytime soon. But anyways, I'm glad you felt like Bray's chapter let you get to know him a bit better. Thanks for reviewing!

**Bunty**: And now I've made it to 26! Go me! LOL! Anyways, I kept my part of the deal—I kept writing, so you keep reading! Thanks for the review!

**Angel871**: So you like the teenage twins, huh? I do, too, but I kinda miss them as eight-year-olds, too. There was a lot of potential for cute, funny scenes with them when they were little…but they needed to age up in order for the story plot to actually progress beyond mere family moments. I love family moments, but the story needed a plot. LOL! Anyways, thanks for the review! Hope you continue to enjoy!

**jesuti**: Wow, J—I don't know which of us was more excited, you after reading the story or me after reading your review! Such a lovely review—it made me smile! Hope your butt is sufficiently un-numb by now! As I was telling Angel 871 (above), part of me hated aging the twins up, but I couldn't progress the plot any further until they were older. After reading the last two chapters, you can probably see why eight-year-old Braden and Aubrey wouldn't have really worked anymore. I'm not ruling out flashback scenes, though, so there's hope. I don't know what I'll do after this story ends—it'll be awhile, so I'm not really thinking about it—but if I do write more SN fics, I have no doubt it'll have plenty of angst involved. Anyways, thanks so much for the wonderful review—hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	27. Misdirected Energy

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. I also don't own any of the trademarked objects that pop up in this chapter.

A/N: Ok, so I did something different in this chapter by providing bold headings—these headings are meant to help you sort of keep track of the passage of time and distance. I originally just did it for me, because I was confusing the hell out of myself. But then I figured, some of you might like to know just how much time is going by as well, so I decided to leave them in. Anyways, sorry for the long wait (as always), and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 27—Misdirected Energy

**NOW LEAVING NOWHERE SPECIFIC, WEST VIRGINIA**

_Thirty-two,_ Dean thought, his eyes taking in the sight of the "Got Jesus?" billboard off to his left before turning his gaze back to the road stretching endlessly before him, the sight of the taillights on his father's truck the only thing breaking up the monotony of the view. He'd broken down and let the twins back into the car with him one hundred eighty-three miles ago, but both of them had been asleep since "Got Jesus?" Number Sixteen, and it had been quiet ever since. And the quiet was starting to really get to him.

_It's _too_ quiet. _

_Quiet is bad, because when it's quiet, there's nothing to drown out the sound of all the shit that's banging around in your head, never giving you a moment's peace. _

He could still feel the weight of the dead man in his arms as he helped heave the body into the hole he and his father had dug, still smell the nauseating scent of flesh burning that was disgustingly unique to the recently deceased.

_That guy is dead because of me. Dad was right. I shouldn't have let the twins go to a party, especially when I knew damn good and well that Braden wasn't feeling right. He had a fucking fever, he was exhausted, and yet, genius that I am, I still let him go. Idiot. And now some guy is dead, and my baby brother has to live with the doubt and the worry and all the emotional baggage shit that goes along with it._

The guilt had been eating away at him ever since, churning in his gut every time he thought about it. Because if Braden hadn't killed the man directly, he'd at least had something to do with it. The size 10 footprints hidden under the body had left little doubt that Braden had been involved, and even though John had ordered Dean not to tell Braden about that little detail, Dean was pretty damn sure that Braden knew that the odds of his being involved were pretty fucking high. And Dean was also pretty damn sure that no one was forgetting that anytime soon.

_As if sleep isn't hard enough to come by in this family._

* * *

**WELCOME TO LINCOLN, NEBRASKA**

The sound of someone stirring pulled Dean out of an uneasy sleep, and even as his hand reached for the knife under his pillow, his eyes shot open to see his father shuffling things around in his small-size duffel.

_What the fuck? It's six o'clock in the morning—can't a guy sleep in without someone waking him up every damn hour? _

Despite the eight hours of sleep he'd gotten the night before—albeit _interrupted_ sleep—Dean was feeling like he'd been burning the candle at both ends for far too long, and a long day of driving had done nothing to improve the situation.

"Dad? What are you doing?"

"Good, you're up. Listen, I've got a lead on this spirit, so I'm gonna head to the library, do a little more digging. If the research pans out, I could have this thing taken care of by tomorrow night."

"Well, wait—I'll come with you."

"Nah, that's alright. Stay here with the twins, keep an eye on 'em."

"Dad," Dean started, but John cut him off with a decisive shake of his head.

"I need you _here_. Stay sober, you hear me?"

_I'm not a fucking alcoholic, Dad. _

His jaw clenched at his father's words, his eyes narrowing angrily even as he nodded. Not waiting for his father to leave, Dean disappeared into the bathroom, pissed off and tired of feeling like his every move was being questioned.

One shower, three breakfast burritos, and a shitload of indigestion later, Dean was cleaning the weapons his father had left behind, his mind on autopilot as the TV blared in the background like so much white noise. The twins were sitting side-by-side on John's bed, still in their pajamas, their postures identical as they plowed through books looking for who-knew-what.

_They're up to something,_ he thought, eyeing them with a narrowed gaze. They were surrounded by a pile of John's books, quietly poring through them for information and occasionally murmuring quiet words to each other. And Dean knew, without moving an inch, that if he was to walk over to them, they'd clam up so fast it would make his head spin. For all their closeness to him, there were some things he wasn't allowed to be a part of, and whatever they were doing was one of them. They'd only been here a few hours, and already Dean was sick and tired of it all, tired of the secrets, tired of sitting on his ass doing nothing, and tired of being left behind while his dad was out hunting.

_Pretty damn obvious he doesn't trust me to watch his back anymore. He won't trust me to hunt with him anymore, but he'll trust me with his kids—there's something seriously fucked up about that._

"No, that's not it," he heard Braden murmur, peering at the book Aubrey held in her lap. "It's different…it's not disembodied _that _way. It's like it didn't have a body to begin with, you know?"

_What the hell are they talking about?_

"So you want me to cross these others off the list then, too?" Aubrey asked, looking up from whatever she was writing in Braden's journal. "'cause they don't have bodies either. Or _didn't_ have bodies, I guess I should say."

"Yeah."

"Well then I need a new book to look through, 'cause this one doesn't have anything else. At least, not anything like what you're talkin' about," she told him, tossing the book aside and holding out her hand for another.

"What the hell are you guys doing?" Dean interrupted, eyeing the two of them suspiciously when they both aimed innocent expressions at him.

"Nothing," they told him simultaneously, watching him expectantly, as though waiting to see if he'd say anything else. Dean shook his head, realizing well enough that it wouldn't do any good to keep at them, because they weren't going to tell him a damn thing until they were good and ready.

_Which will be like, never. Sammy and I used to be like that,_ he thought, feeling the sharp ache of loneliness that he'd grown so familiar with in the past two years. _We kept shit from Dad and the twins all the time, and it was good. Until Sammy started keeping shit from me, too._

Shoving the thoughts of his brother away, Dean turned back to the weapons laid out across the table, blanking his mind and willing himself to think of nothing but the gun in his hand as the twins started murmuring to each other once more.

_Suck it up, Dean. This is how it is now. And nothing you do is gonna change it._

* * *

Dean glanced down at his watch, shaking his head tiredly at the numbers staring him in the face. 2:33. He'd already consumed two beers, was none the mellower for it, and was unwilling to drink any more than the two. A phone call from his father hours before telling him not to wait up was hardly surprising, as John often pulled all-nighters when he was on a hunt, and Dean knew he was close to finishing off the spirit. But being left behind once again only served to piss Dean off.

Not that it took much these days.

Two days into their stay in Lincoln and Braden had already started stirring in his sleep again, leaving Dean little hope of getting a decent night of rest. Tonight was their third night in Lincoln, and it didn't appear to be an exception, because even though the twins had gone to bed hours ago, Braden had already been up twice, and the night was still relatively young. It seemed like every time Dean managed to fall asleep, he'd catch Braden getting out of bed and heading for the door or for the pile of books they'd abandoned earlier.

_And if that wasn't bad enough, the fucking hamster is staring at me with those creepy little eyes. Why do the damn things have to be nocturnal anyway? Shit, you'd think after years of staying in shitty motel rooms with an endless line of hamsters, I'd be used to it by now. Hmm…Aubrey's fourteen now…maybe she's old enough that she wouldn't beg Dad for another one if this one were to, I don't know, suddenly die of mysterious causes…Wonder if Dad would suspect. I mean, it's been years since he last caught me plotting hamster deaths…_

Unfortunately, Dean knew his father wasn't stupid, and it wouldn't take a genius to figure out that the hamster suddenly dying had "Dean" written all over it.

_Too bad._

One hour later, the door opened, and John walked in, dropping his duffel quietly at the door as he headed straight for the bathroom.

"Go on to bed, Dean."

Dean nodded, but didn't move towards the bed, well aware of what his father didn't seem to realize—if Dean didn't stay awake, Braden could just as easily walk out the door while John was in the shower. Luckily, John didn't often linger in the shower, so he emerged from the bathroom within ten minutes.

"You gonna listen for Bray?" Dean asked, his voice thick with exhaustion.

"What do you mean?"

"Dad, he's been fucking sleepwalking again," Dean replied, choosing not to add that John should have known that.

"How long?"

"Pretty much since we got here."

"Shit. Have you been able to sleep at all?"

"Not really."

"Alright, yeah, I got him," John said with a sigh, settling onto the bed beside Braden while Dean dropped down next to Aubrey, shoving a pillow in between them before flopping back against the mattress. "Get some sleep, Dean," John murmured, even as Dean was already pulling another pillow over his head.

But getting some sleep was easier said than done, Dean realized a few hours later. Even though his father was getting up to steer Braden back to bed, every time his brother stirred, Dean still woke up, his mind and body trained to respond to any movement on Braden's part. In the end, it didn't matter that John had agreed to be on watch that night, because Dean still didn't get much sleep.

_Big fucking surprise._

* * *

**NOW LEAVING LINCOLN, NEBRASKA**

They left Lincoln shortly after noon, beginning the twenty-four hour drive to Seattle, and it didn't take Dean long to realize that he was entirely too tired for a long trip. Even switching off with his father to watch Braden hadn't done a damn bit of good—sleeping lightly had been ingrained in Dean since age four, and it wasn't a habit that Dean imagined he'd lose anytime soon. So even though his father had taken his turn listening out for Braden, Dean had still only gotten a minimal amount of sleep. They were planning to stop in Salt Lake City, Utah, which was about halfway to Seattle, but Dean was starting to doubt that he'd even make it that far.

_There's no fucking way I'm gonna be able to drive all the way to Salt Lake without something to keep me awake,_ he realized with a sudden wave of dread. _Shit._ He could already feel exhaustion pulling at him as he merged onto the Interstate behind his father, and from the way Aubrey and Braden were settling in, he could tell they weren't going to be much help keeping him awake.

"Aubrey?"

"Hmm?" she mumbled absentmindedly as she set to work making a nest out of her sizable collection of pillows in the front seat, even as Braden flopped across the backseat with a weary sigh.

"I need you to do me a favor."

"Like what?"

"I need you to call Dad in about an hour, tell him you have to piss."

"How come?"

"Because I asked you to," Dean said evasively, not really wanting to get into with it. "You gonna help me out or not?"

"Fine," she said with an exaggerated sigh, "but you're gonna owe me."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Listen, wait until we're close to a gas station, alright? I don't want Dad pulling over at a fast food joint—I need it to be a gas station, okay?"

"Okay."

An hour later, Dean was staying awake only by sheer force of will, so it was with a wave of relief that he tossed his phone into Aubrey's lap.

"Call Dad."

"Will you buy me something at the gas station?" she asked as she held the phone up to her ear and waited for John to answer.

"Yeah. What do you want?"

"The usual," she replied, shifting her attention away as she spoke into the phone. "Hey, Daddy, it's me. Listen, could we stop at the next gas station?...Yeah, I know we haven't been on the road long, but I need to pee…it's not really something I can control, Daddy….I _did_ go before we left," she said, rolling her eyes and giving Dean a cranky look, obviously blaming him for having to endure a lecture on the Winchester family's proper pissing procedures. For John Winchester, there was a plan for everything, and stopping an hour into a cross-state trip for a pee-break was not part of that plan. "Thanks, Daddy—I'll be quick, I promise."

They pulled off the Interstate five minutes later and stopped at the nearest gas station. Relieved that his father wasn't showing any signs of going inside, Dean threw open the door and headed in, leaving John to keep an eye on Braden, who was asleep in the backseat, while Aubrey followed him into the gas station, keeping up the pretense of going to the bathroom. He headed straight for the drinks, bypassing the crappy caffeine pills, his eyes already scanning the rows of cold beverages for the ones with the highest caffeine counts.

_Pepsi tastes good…but Mountain Dew has more caffeine…'course, with that kind of reasoning, I oughta go for the big guns and grab a Red Bull or a Monster…nah, Monster tastes like piss…ah, fuck it._

With a careless shrug, Dean opened up the refrigerator door and grabbed three bottles of Mountain Dew, adding a Red Bull after a moment of consideration as well as an orange soda for Aubrey and a Yoohoo for Braden. He started for the register to pay, only to pause as he passed the snack aisles.

_Should probably stock up while we're here._

He added a jumbo-size bag of Peanut M&Ms to the pile, as well as a pack of Twizzlers for Aubrey and a bag of cheese Doritos for Braden.

_These things should come with fucking napkins or something—this processed cheese shit gets all over the place. And Bray better not wipe his hands on my baby's leather seats, 'cause I'll have to kick his ass if he does._

While he stood at the cash register waiting for the moron behind the counter to ring everything up, Aubrey caught his eye as she came out of the bathroom. He motioned for her to go on to the car, and she complied with a nod. Dean followed a few minutes later, rolling his eyes at the stupidity of the clerk as he pushed through the doors and arrived back at the car. He tossed the bag onto Aubrey's lap as he slid back into the car and started her up, falling into place behind his father as the older man led the way back onto the Interstate.

"What's with all the Mountain Dew?" Aubrey asked him as she peered into the bag.

"Just wanted some."

"That's a crap-load of Mountain Dew, D. Better not let Daddy find out," she said with a smirk.

"Aubrey, I'm twenty-four years old—I don't need Dad's permission to drink a Mountain Dew." _Or two. Or three._

"Yeah, okay, you just keep telling yourself that."

"Shut up," Dean growled, pushing away the niggling thought that she was right. Defiantly, he reached for a Mountain Dew and twisted the cap off, tossing it on the dash as he put the bottle to his lips and guzzled the sweet, syrupy liquid until half the bottle was empty.

_If I wanna drink a fucking soda, I can. Hell, if I wanna drink _twelve_ sodas, I can._

It was stupid, juvenile, and completely inane, but at the moment, it was really how he felt, and he didn't care.

Besides, it was so much easier to feel the hot rush of angry defiance than the bitter sting of guilt.

* * *

**NOW ARRIVING IN SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH**

Two states, three bottles of Mt. Dew, four cups of coffee, and five bags of Peanut M&Ms later and Dean felt like he was going to jump out of his skin. By the time they reached a motel right outside Salt Lake, he was pretty sure that sleeping that night was well out of the question_._

_I wonder if this is how it feels to be high. On something besides weed, I mean, because weed mellows you out—it doesn't make you feel like _this_. This is like, the total opposite of being doped up on weed—this is like being high, except without the whole doing illegal narcotics thing…Shit, if I'm the equivalent of high right now, then that means I'm gonna crash soon, and that's not good, because the after-burn on re-entry is always a bitch, and it's probably a lot like being hungover, which begs the question, is there such a thing as a caffeine hangover? Probably is, especially since the Winchester bad-luck never fails to rear its ugly head—yep, I'm screwed…unless I get some more caffeine, right? Maybe if I just drink a little more, then I won't have to deal with the after-effects…okay, maybe that's just delaying the inevitable, but…I'm okay with that…yeah…so quarters, I need quarters, vending machines take quarters…shit, I used the last of 'em on that last bag of M&Ms back in…where were we again? _

He didn't even realize he'd started pacing the floor until his father suddenly stepped into his path, grabbing him by the shoulders in a tight grip.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" the older man asked him, staring him down with a look that Dean knew meant he was definitely waiting for an explanation.

_Oh, fuck. What do I tell him? I can't tell him I'm---is it 'high' or is it 'drunk' when you're talking about caffeine? I mean, caffeine's a drug, so you could say I'm high right now…but I drank it in liquid form, which would technically mean I'm drunk. But maybe you're only drunk when you've been drinking alcohol_—

"Dean!"

Jarred out of his train of thought, Dean realized sheepishly that his father was still waiting for an answer.

_Okay, think fast…shit. I got nothing._

"Nothing's wrong with me," he said, going for a nonchalant shrug as he struggled to hold himself still.

_Too bad I can't make my hands stop shaking. I wonder if that would affect my aim…bet I could stop them from shaking so long as I was holding something. Yeah, I'm badass—no caffeine shakes can mess with _my_ aim. I got fucking _awesome_ aim._

"You're kidding me, right?" John retorted, eyeing him with enough scrutiny that Dean realized he wasn't the only one who was taking notice of his frenetic movement.

"I'm fine," he said, trying to pull away only to grimace when John tightened his grip, staring back at Dean with a discerning gaze.

_Don't fidget, don't fidget, don't—shit, I'm fidgeting! I'm acting like a fucking three-year-old who's just gotten in trouble. He knows. Except it's not my fault—Dad just has that effect on people, especially his kids. Wish we could bottle that shit—we could call it Intimidation. And we could advertise it with a good slogan, like…ooh, "Intimidation. Made exclusively by Winchester: Scaring the piss outta bad guys and naughty kids since 1979." We could make a fortune off rich-ass parents who suck at controlling their kids—_

"Dammit, Dean!"

"What?!" he threw back, startled by his father's exclamation.

"Don't 'what?' me, Dean! You're acting like a five-year-old on crack," John said sternly.

"I'm just a little wound up," Dean started, but John cut him off.

"A little wound up? Are you shittin' me? Ah, fuck, Dean. Did you get into the caffeine pills I keep in the first-aid kit?"

"What the hell, Dad?! No!" Dean said, starting to get angry by his father's accusations.

_But, you know what? I'm twenty-four fucking years old—what business is it of yours if I did? _

"Is that right?"

"Yeah."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes _sir_," Dean growled. "I didn't take the damn pills."

_I didn't have to. That's what the shit-load of caffeinated beverages was for. And the candy._

"Then what did you take?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about whatever you ingested that has you this juiced up."

"It was just a few sodas and some coffee, alright?" _And some chocolate. A lot of chocolate. But the chocolate doesn't really count. _

"How much is a few?"

"Um…not much," he hedged, but his father wasn't having any of it.

"How many sodas, Dean? And don't even think about lying to me—you know as well as I do that your sister will rat you out in a heartbeat."

_Shit. She totally would, too._

"Three."

_There, that's not that many, right? A nice, small number._

"Three what?"

"Mountain Dews."

_The kind that comes in the bottle instead of the can, the large bottle that doesn't fit in the cup-holder in the car. I only drank the stupid Mountain Dew because it has a higher caffeine content than Pepsi,_ he thought defiantly, and as though the mere thought of it conjured up a physical reaction, he suddenly found himself practically tasting the cold sweetness of Pepsi on his tongue.

_Damn, I want a Pepsi. Mmmm. _

He could almost see the bright blue can resting comfortably in his hand, it's red and blue Pepsi logo triggering a wonderful thirst as readily as Pavlov's bell did for the damn dogs.

_Where's the closest mini-mart? Ooh, no, fast food joint Pepsi is better—sweeter 'cause it mixes straight out of the drink machine. Awesome. And there's a McDonald's down the road—ah, wait, McDonald's sells fucking Coke. Shit. Okay, new plan…who sells Pepsi? _

"Dean, focus," John broke in, snapping his fingers in front of Dean's eyes and effectively bringing Dean's attention back. For the moment. "The coffee—how much did you drink?"

"Just four, Dad." _Of the Starbucks Grande size variety._

"Is that it?"

"Yessir," he muttered, deciding once and for all that the candy didn't count.

'_Cause Dad's only asking about _significant_ caffeine intake. 'sides, the candy is more _sugar_ than _caffeine_._

"Don't forget the Red Bull, D," Aubrey piped up absentmindedly, paying scant attention as she dug through her backpack for something.

"Dammit, Aubrey, stay the fuck out of it!" Dean yelled, spinning out of his father's grip and whirling to face his sister, his face heating up. "Dad wasn't talking to you!"

"Fine," she said, rolling her eyes and turning her back on him, even as John continued to interrogate Dean.

"Red Bull, Dean?" John asked, releasing a frustrated sigh as he dragged a hand through his hair, eyeing his oldest with aggravation.

"Look, it was hours ago—I forgot I had it. Besides, it was only the one—that shit tastes like ass without the Jäger mixed in."

"Damn it, Dean!" his father swore angrily, and Dean could feel his own anger rise to match.

"Look, it was a few caffeinated beverages—what's the big fucking deal?!"

"Your susceptibility to caffeine notwithstanding, it's a damn energy drink, Dean," John said exasperatedly. "On top of all the damn soda, you could've given yourself a fucking heart attack, son," he went on, shaking his head ruefully as he looked back at Dean with a tired expression. "I just want to know what the hell were you thinking. "

"I was thinking that I'm fucking tired!" Dean roared, suddenly unable to stop himself once he let the hold on his anger and frustration slip. "Since we left West Virginia, Braden's hardly been sleeping, and you were out hunting whatever the fuck it is that you managed to find in Bumfuck, Nebraska while I was left holding the fort! You're not here to spell me, and if I don't drink the fucking caffeine, then how the hell else am I supposed to stay awake!? I can't screw up again, Dad, and if I fall asleep, that's what'll happen! I can't let anything else go wrong if Braden starts sleepwalking again, not on my watch!"

"Dean—"

"No," Dean shouted, backing away as his father took a step toward him. "I don't understand what you want from me," he yelling, a hint of quiet desperation leaking into his voice. "I do everything you ask me, or I try, but I screwed up, and I'm sorry!" He wasn't even sure when it became about more than the caffeine, but suddenly he was spilling his guts, laying it all out there for everyone to see—and he hated it.

"What the hell, Dean? I mean, yeah, I'm pissed at you for doing this, but…damn, son, it was a caffeine overload, not the end of the world. It certainly wasn't your brightest idea, but—"

"That's not what I'm talking about, dammit!"

"Then what?"

_Don't. Don't start something you don't want to finish._

"Nothing. Just forget it," Dean said, locking it all back up where it belonged. Dean Winchester did not talk about his feelings. Dean Winchester hid them behind smiles and bravado, where no one could use them against him ever again. Anger was the only good emotion, because anger couldn't hurt you. Feeling anything else was a waste of energy.

"No, you tell me what you meant," John ordered, and Dean felt his anger surge again, tired of being ordered around, and resentful of his father for asking him to drop his guard and talk about feelings neither of them wanted to acknowledge that he had.

"Dammit!" he yelled, lashing out and sending the empty coffee pot careening into the wall, the carafe shattering in a spray of glass that scattered across the carpet. Shame flooded him as a thick silence descended, everyone's eyes on him.

"You need to calm down," John said firmly, laying a heavy hand on Dean's shoulders.

"I am calm!" he barked, shaking off his father's grip and stepping back, well aware that he was far too amped up to settle, much less calm himself.

"Alright, you know what? Go change into some sweats. Braden, you, too."

"What?! What did _I_ do?" Braden asked, looking up with an affronted expression.

"Don't argue with me, Braden."

"Daddy, you shouldn't make Bray—" Aubrey began, but John cut her off with a shake of his head.

"Aubrey, don't start or you can go with them."

While Aubrey settled back on the bed with a petulant look, Dean stood there, vibrating with energy as he stared back at his father, nonplussed.

"Dean?"

"What are you doin', Dad?" Dean asked tiredly, weary of the drama and the yelling and the anger. The guilt.

"Go do what I told you."

"Why?"

"Because I said so—now move your ass."

'_Because I said so?' Seriously. Are you kidding me? That's some fine parenting there, Dad. _

As much as Dean wanted to flip his dad off and go buy the damn Pepsi he was still thinking about, he nevertheless turned and grabbed his duffel without a word, the need to obey orders as ingrained in him as looking after his siblings. Silently, he stalked into the bathroom, slinging his bag inside and slamming the door behind him. He leaned against the sink, bracing himself with his hands as he dropped his head down with a weary sigh, watching as his hands shook despite their grip on the counter.

_Caffeine overdose—yeah, great idea, genius._

Pushing himself off the sink, he changed into a loose pair of track pants, tying the string at the waist before pulling a lightweight long-sleeve t-shirt over his head. _This is fucking stupid,_ he thought, jerking the door open and stepping aside as Braden pushed past him to change. Kicking his duffel toward the nearest bed, he dropped down on the mattress with a sigh.

"This gonna involve running?" he asked his father without looking up at the other man.

"Yep."

_Shit._

He dragged a flexible knee brace out of his bag and pulled it on before pushing the leg of his pants back down over it and shoving his feet into his seldom-worn tennis shoes. He made quick work of tying his shoes and settled back to wait for Braden. Unfortunately, the caffeine running through his system wasn't conducive to sitting still so he was up again a minute later, pacing the floor impatiently. Braden emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, looking none too excited as he came to stand beside Dean.

"Go out and start running. Braden, you give me a solid two miles and call it quits. Dean, give me four and head on back."

"Four? Dad, what the hell?" Dean asked, lifting his hands in disbelief.

"Dean, you're so buzzed on caffeine that you can't even sit down—if you don't burn some of that energy off, _none_ of us are gonna sleep tonight."

"What does it matter? We won't sleep anyway—Bray's gonna get up and down all fucking night regardless."

"Shut-up, Dean!" Braden said hotly.

"Do you _really_ wanna start shit with me right now?" Dean asked, rounding on his younger brother, his temper flaring up with the alarming speed that it had been for the last two years.

"Knock it off, both of you!" John thundered, his gaze stormy as he took in his two sons.

"I still don't see why I have to go," Braden protested, as John walked both of them to the door with a firm hand. "I didn't throw anything, and I'm not the idiot who OD'ed on caffeine either."

"Why don't you kiss my—" Dean started, only to have his father cut him off with an upraised, ignoring him as he spoke to Braden like Dean hadn't said a word.

"No, but you're the one that's not sleeping—a good run will tire you out and help you sleep better."

"But—"

"You two stay together—no splitting up. It'll be dark soon. Dean, make sure Braden gets back here after he runs his two miles."

"Yessir," Dean mumbled, only barely managing to hold back the resentment in his voice.

"Don't forget to stretch first," John told them before disappearing into the bathroom for a shower without a glance back.

"Let's go, Bray," Dean said reluctantly, pushing Braden outside by a hand on the back of his younger brother's neck. They spared a moment to stretch before settling into a nice, steady pace that worked for both of them.

_Good thing Aub didn't get forced into this too—she's so damn short, she'd be left behind in minutes. _

They ran without talking, each of them wrapped up in their own thoughts, and while Braden had never been what one would call talkative, the fact that he seemed to have lapsed into a guilt-ridden silence became obvious. It was a state that Dean was well familiar with, having spent large parts of his lifetime feeling it in varying amounts for one reason or another.

A headache pounded in his temples, matching the rhythm of their feet on the pavement, and Dean wanted nothing more than to let his mind wander, but guilt was eating him up from the inside, and from the look on his younger brother's face, it was eating Braden up too. And Dean couldn't just let that go.

"Bray?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't blame yourself for what happened at that warehouse," he told Braden, never really one to beat around the bush when one of his siblings needed him.

"But, D, what if I—"

"No. It wasn't you—you can't help what you do in your sleep. Besides, even if you did kill him—which I'm not saying you did—you gotta wonder what some guy was doing at an abandoned warehouse in the middle of the night anyway—it wasn't anything good, that's for damn sure. So whether you were asleep or not, if you killed him, I don't doubt for a damn second that you didn't have a good reason. And you shouldn't doubt it either."

"But he was still a person, and I mighta—"

"No!" Dean barked, jerking his brother to an abrupt halt and turning him to face him, his hands tightening on Braden's shoulders as he met the fourteen-year-old's gaze. "Don't. It's _not_ your fault, Braden. Understand?"

Braden's eyes filled, and Dean pulled him forward into a crushing hug as Braden sobbed helplessly into the front of Dean's t-shirt, pouring out a week's worth of repressed guilt, his fists clenched tightly in the fabric at Dean's back. So Dean fought back the headache pounding in his temples, holding his little brother to him and hoping that he at least wasn't screwing _this_ up.

"It's not your fault," Dean murmured again, glad that Braden couldn't read the truth in his eyes right then.

_It's not your fault, Bray. It's mine._

"C'mon, little brother—we'd better get moving, or Dad's gonna come looking for us," he said, giving Braden one last pat on the back when Braden's sobs subsided into sniffles. His face turning an embarrassed shade of pink, Braden wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeve and stepped back with a nod.

They settled back into a run, circling back when Braden was close to the two-mile mark, and Bray peeled off when they reached the motel, Dean pausing only long enough to make sure Braden got back in before he increased his speed. Breaking into a steady run, he distantly wished he could outrun his guilt, and his anger, and the aching sense of emptiness that never seemed to leave him these days.

_How did I let this happen? _I'm_ turning into as much of a head-case as Aubrey, Braden's an insomniac wandering around doing who-the-hell-knows-what, and I can't seem to do a damn thing right. I should've called Dad sooner and let him take care of it instead of trying to do it all myself, because _I_ fucking blew it._

He had to stop and throw up somewhere in the middle of mile three, the overdose of caffeine having finally taken its toll.

_Note to self—Dad was right to make caffeine a controlled substance for me when I was three. And obviously, I haven't grown out of the whole caffeine-makes-me-too-fucking-wired to function. Too bad I didn't think about that sooner, like, say _before_ I made myself sick off the damn stuff. _

At this point, his head was pounding in earnest, and nausea roiled in his stomach. By mile four, he knew there was no way he was going to make it back anytime soon. He dropped to the curb, feeling absolutely defeated and worthless as he rubbed at his temples futilely. And then it began to rain.

_Just perfect. Of _course_, it would rain. Shit._

Lacking the energy to get up and find cover, he simply sat there, letting the rain soak through his clothes and struggling to let everything else roll off him as readily as the water. But it wasn't working. Instead of washing away, all he seemed capable of doing was shoring it all up behind the inner walls, behind the familiar dam inside him that held everything back. Most of the time.

He was fighting back another wave of nausea when he heard the familiar rumble of an engine.

_Please don't let it be Dad. I can't fucking do this right now._

He glanced up, sighing when he saw his father's truck pull up beside him. He dropped his head for only a moment before slowly climbing to his feet, wincing at the ache settling in his knee even as he ruthlessly pushed the pain out of his mind and prepared to start running again, unwilling to listen to his dad bust his ass for not finishing the run. Unfortunately, mind over matter was a bunch of bullshit in this case, and he'd only taken a few steps when he had to stop and throw up again.

"You alright?" John asked, stepping out of the truck and coming around to lay a hand on Dean's back as he stood, bent at the waist there on the side of the road, throwing up what felt like most of his stomach.

"Just peachy," Dean mumbled, spitting onto the sidewalk before slowly straightening. "I'll finish the run, Dad—I just need a few minutes," he said quietly, dragging a shaky hand over his face before he started to turn away.

"Forget about it—get in the truck and let's go."

"But—"

"Now, Dean."

Without another word, Dean slowly followed his dad back to the truck and climbed in, resting his head against the window even as he felt himself start to shake with cold, the wet clothes finally starting to register as his body had the chance to slow down.

"You alright?"

"Yessir."

John sighed, obviously sensing that Dean was bullshitting him, and suddenly, Dean got the feeling that his father was about to veer dangerously close to a chick-flick moment.

"Listen, son. About the other night…"

_Ah, shit. Don't do this to me now, Dad._

"When Braden disappeared," John continued, "I said some things, things I shouldn't have said, and well…look, I was worried and pissed off, and I took it out on you, and I'm sorry."

"Okay," Dean replied, just wanting it to be over.

"So you know that I didn't mean any of that shit I said?"

Dean didn't answer, not really certain he could answer honestly. No, it was best to stay silent, 'cause no matter what his father _said_, his actions lately suggested otherwise.

_No, Dad, I'm pretty damn sure you meant it when you said you'd trusted me, and I let you down._

"Dean?"

"Sure, Dad."

"Why don't you can the patronizing bullshit and talk to me?"

"What do you want me to tell you?" Dean asked, a hint of exasperation leaking into his voice. He didn't want to talk about this.

_Why can't we do what we always do and shove this under the rug with everything else?_

The Winchester 'rug' was a fucking mountain by this point, so big that none of them could deny its existence, but it served its purpose, and like they always said, 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it.' So Dean didn't understand why now would be any different.

"The truth would be nice," John answered, and for a second, Dean faltered, not really knowing _what_ to say, much less how to say it.

_The truth? Since when do we talk about the truth? Who the hell wants to? The truth is ugly. The truth is Sam left because he couldn't take it anymore. The truth is he's gone, and I don't know what to fucking do with myself anymore. The truth is Braden's fucked up somehow and we don't know how to fix him. The truth is Aubrey's still an emotional wreck who can't be alone and doesn't show any signs of growing out of it. The truth is I'm reaching the end of my fucking rope here. Is that really what you wanna hear, Dad?_

"I can't," he said instead, knowing instinctively that if he let loose with what he was really thinking, he wouldn't be able to stop.

"Just tell me what's going on with you," John said lightly.

"Nothin'."

"This doesn't look like nothing, Dean."

"It's fine, Dad. Everything's fine. I'm taking care of it."

_Why do you all of sudden want to _talk_ about things? It's not like it's gonna fucking change anything!_

"From where I'm sitting, it doesn't look like you are. So talk to me."

"Talk to you? Are you fucking kidding me?" Dean asked in a low voice.

"You watch your tone when you talk to me, boy. Why are you giving me the attitude?"

"Because you're unbelievable. You want me to _talk_ to you? We don't _talk_ about things, Dad. We pretend they never happened. And you know what? I'm okay with that. I don't wanna sit through some awkward as hell chick-flick moment just because I had a little too much caffeine and I shot my mouth off. I'm sorry I fucked up—now can we just move on?"

"Dean," his father began slowly, and Dean got an uneasy feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the caffeine-induced nausea. "I've tried to be patient, but it's been two years since Sam left, and you're getting worse instead of better," he said not unkindly. "I've let this go on for too long, and enough's enough. I know you're still reeling from him being gone, but you've gotta pull yourself together, son."

_It's your fault I'm like this,_ Dean wanted to say_. You're the one who told me to look after Sam, to take care of him, to never let him out of my sight! And now that he's gone, I don't know what to do anymore. How do I fix that, Dad?! Tell me!_

But he couldn't say that. So he did what he'd been doing for the past two years—he pushed it away and buried it under something else he could be angry about.

"You know, Dad, not everything is about Sam," he bit out. _Even though it usually is. _"In case you forgot, we burned a fucking corpse a few days ago, a corpse that hadn't even been dead twenty-four hours, and it never would've happened if I'd just done my job and watched the twins. I never should have let them out of my sight. You know it, and I know it!"

"Look, I'm not gonna sit here and bullshit you that you didn't play a part in what happened, but son, you're human. It was a lapse in judgment to let them go to that party, but your heart was in the right place. And blaming yourself for what happened to that guy isn't going to do you a damn bit of good. You need to let go of the guilt and move on."

"You gonna move on, too?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" John asked, sparing a glance at Dean that told Dean he was getting awfully damn close to crossing the line.

_Fuck._

"Look, just forget it, Dad."

"No. You answer me."

"C'mon, Dad. It's pretty damn obvious you don't trust me anymore," Dean said, his voice emerging in a low murmur.

"What are you—? Dean, I told you that I didn't mean any of that shit I said the night Braden went missing."

"It started months before that, Dad!" Dean bit out. "You haven't been taking me on hunts, you question me all the fucking time—what the hell am I supposed to think?"

"Son, it's not about me trusting you to watch my back. I don't trust you to watch your own—you're getting more and more reckless, Dean, and it scares the hell outta me."

"I take care of myself just fine, and I don't need you to shelter me like I'm a damn kid!"

"You may be twenty-four, but you're still my son, still my boy. And I'll be _damned_ if I'll stand by and watch you put yourself in danger needlessly. This job is dangerous enough as it is! So until you can prove to me that you value your own ass, I'm gonna continue to sideline you!"

"What the fuck, Dad?! That's bullshit!"

"Call it what you will, but my decision stands. I need your head in the game, and right now, it's not."

"I'm doing the best I can," Dean argued, dropping his head back against the seat with a weary sigh, the pounding in his temples unrelenting now.

"I know you are. And I also know that, despite what you say, Sam _is_ at the root of all of this."

"Dad—"

"But it's been two years, Dean," John went on, not letting Dean protest. "You've gotta let it go, son," he said softly.

_I've tried. Don't you think I've fucking tried?_

"I put a lot on your shoulders," his father continued, "but it's because I know I can count on you. Things in this family have never been easy, and they're definitely not getting any easier, but that's why I need you onboard. Without you, this family won't make it. I need you. I need you to pull yourself together."

Dean was silent, fighting back another surge of nausea as he turned to stare out the window.

"Dean?"

Again he said nothing, nodding instead as he slammed the walls he built so long ago into place, not wanting to handle the ache in his chest that talk of Sam always elicited.

_Things just aren't the same anymore. And talking doesn't change any of that. Sam'll still be gone, and Braden will still be sleepwalking and doing crazy shit, and I'll still be just as fucked up as always._

"So can I count on you?" his father asked, his words hanging between them in the growing darkness.

Dean nodded again, because really, what else could he do?

"Dean," his father said with a sigh, obviously wanting more than just a token nod.

"I don't feel good, Dad. I just…please, I don't wanna talk anymore."

"Alright," John said with a sigh. "We'll talk about it later," he said, reaching over to squeeze the back of Dean's neck comfortingly. But Dean knew the truth.

_No, we won't. Because even though you want to, Dad, it'll get swept under the rug like everything else. Because that's how it always is. That's how it's supposed to be. 'Cause it's safer that way._

* * *

He only threw up once more before they got to the motel, and after Dean had taken a hot shower, John pushed bottles of water on him until Dean couldn't decide which he needed to do more, piss or throw-up. Luckily enough, Aubrey had cleaned up the coffee pot that Dean had broken, so at least he didn't have to take care of that in the midst of the blitz the caffeine was waging against him.

The twins conked out around 11:30, Dean opting to sit up with his father for awhile, since sleep still wasn't really an option at that point, and by 12:45, Braden was already showing signs of the restlessness that was a sure sign that he'd be up soon. If they'd been living out of more than one room, Dean suspected, Braden wouldn't even be _attempting_ to sleep anymore, but with everyone crammed into one space, there was no way Braden could hide staying up all night from their dad. So instead, he kept falling asleep, hence the return to sleepwalking.

Three hours, five pee breaks, and twenty-six infomercials later, Dean finally couldn't keep his eyes open anymore, not even when Braden got up and moved towards the door. His eyes slipped closed as John got up to intercept Braden, and Dean fell asleep to the soft murmuring of his father's voice coaxing Braden back to bed.

* * *

When Dean finally pried his eyes open the next morning and glanced at the clock by the bed, it was 11:18, and he felt like shit.

_Dude, caffeine hangover. What a bitch. _

Fully unburying his head from the pillow he'd been nestled under, he sat up with a groan and looked around, frowning when he saw that Aubrey was the only one in the room with him. She was still asleep, sprawled across the bed she'd shared with Braden.

There was no sign of Braden or Dad.

_And no note_._ Of course. Way to keep me in the loop, Dad._

With an irritated sigh, Dean threw the covers off and headed towards the bathroom, shaking Aubrey awake as he passed.

"I'm gonna grab a shower and shave," he mumbled, and she blinked up at him for a minute before rolling over and going back to sleep, obviously content with the knowledge that Dean wasn't gonna leave her by herself.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, showered, shaved, and fully dressed—minus boots—Aubrey was sitting up in the middle of the bed, staring back at him blearily.

"Where's Bray and Daddy?"

"I dunno," Dean said as he sat down on the foot of the bed to put his boots on.

"Does Daddy have his phone with him? We could call and find out."

"Probably. _You_ can call if you want."

"You okay, D?"

"'m fine. Go get dressed so we can go eat," he said, opting to change the subject before Aubrey decided to push for what would no doubt have become a chick-flick moment.

"What about Daddy and Bray?"

"Dad has money—I'm sure they won't starve, Aub. Now hurry up—I'm hungry."

She complied, taking a surprisingly quick shower and emerging twenty minutes later fully dressed. She followed him to the Impala, sliding in without a word. It was quiet for a moment, but Dean was counting on the fact that his sister wasn't exactly known for letting silence go on for long. The silence made it all too easy to think about shit he didn't want to think about, but Aubrey had never let him linger in silence for long, and he figured she wasn't about to let him down now.

"So, is Daddy gonna enroll us in school when we get to Seattle?"

"Probably," Dean replied, knowing that he wasn't exactly contributing much to conversation but also knowing that it wouldn't phase Aubrey a bit—she'd talk regardless. And sure enough, she didn't disappoint.

"I hope he doesn't—I'd rather move again before we go back to school, 'cause I hate Seattle. Seriously, how do people _live_ there? It's always raining, and it's cold half the time. And who can stand having cold, wet feet? I mean, sure, you could wear those rain-boot things, but they're totally ugly. And besides, people need sunlight, you know, for vitamin D—I think it's vitamin D. Well, whatever it is, you need it, and you get it from sunlight. And if you don't get it, you get all depressed and unhappy. I wonder if Seattle has a higher depression rate than, like, everywhere else…I bet they do. I hate rain. So can you ask Daddy if we can move again before me and Bray have to go back to school?" she asked, finally coming back around to her original point.

"I don't think he'd go for it."

"Why not?"

"You guys have only missed a few days at this point, but you miss much more and you're gonna get held back. Dad's not gonna let that happen."

"But what's a couple more days while we drive someplace warmer and not so dang wet?"

"Aubrey, it wouldn't be a 'couple more days'—think about it. Dad would have to finish up the hunt in Seattle, which could take days if not longer. Then, he'd hafta figure out where to go next, which would mean research, and who knows how long that would take? And knowing Dad, he'd end up finding a hunt that's on the other side of the country, which would mean another cross-country trip that could take days in itself. Then, we'd have to find a place to settle before we could enroll you guys. All of that adds up to you guys missing way too much school."

"Well, maybe he already has another hunt already figured out," she offered, and Dean couldn't deny the possibility.

_It wouldn't be surprising._

"Aubrey, just give it up already. It's not gonna happen."

He was saved from what would no doubt have been a begging session when he pulled up at a small diner. After a relatively nice lunch, Aubrey managed to wrangle him into taking her to the mall. Dean wasn't much of a shopper, but he liked to people-watch, and truthfully, there was no place better than the mall to people-watch.

_Besides, who wants to sit at that crap-ass motel and wait for Dad and Braden to come back from wherever the hell they are?_

Since Braden wasn't there to serve as the official opinion-giver on clothes and shit, Dean humored his sister and followed her into the first few stores, graciously giving her his opinion on which outfits were okay and which were completely fugly, before he finally got bored and put his foot down, refusing to budge past the benches placed so conveniently in front of most of the store entrances. And as long as she could see him through the glass windows, Aubrey was cool with it.

Eighteen stores, nine benches, three purchases, two giant pretzels, two slices of Sbarro's pizza, and three mall-cookies later, Dean's phone rang, tearing his attention away from the people currently occupying space in front of Spencer's, Dean's favorite store.

"Yeah?"

"Where are you?" his father asked from the other end, and Dean stifled a sigh even as he subtly straightened up.

"Mall with Aubrey. Where are _you_?"

"On the way back to the motel. Aubrey's not blowing a bunch of money, is she?"

"No sir."

_I'd consider lying to you if she was, though_, Dean thought, considering that for a moment_. It's not fair that she never gets to shop like other chicks her age. She needs 'normal' every once in awhile or she's gonna wanna leave us one day. _

_Like Sammy. _

"Have you two eaten yet?"

"Yessir." _If you count mall pizza and junk-food. _

Which they pretty much did count in the Winchester family, even if Pastor Jim frowned upon it.

"Good. Get back to the motel—we need to hit the road if we're gonna make Seattle tonight."

"Dad, it's a twelve-hour trip—if we leave now, not counting stops, it's gonna be two in the morning before we get there."

"You slept late—you'll be fine."

_Nevermind that we're all gonna be stuck on the road for twelve hours._

"Can't we stop over somewhere?"

"Nah, I don't want to pay for a motel when we can push on through. Besides, I've already called ahead and gotten us a place to stay for the night. Office stays open, so we can get the key to the room whenever we get there."

_Which basically means it's a crappy place to stay. Shit._

"Great," he said dryly. "So where were you, anyway?"

His father sighed impatiently, obviously wishing he didn't have to go into it, but Dean could tell he was trying when he offered up a small explanation.

"Took Braden to the doctor, see if we could do something about the sleepwalking."

"So, what did the doc say?"

"After making me fill out a bunch of fucking papers and answer a load of bullshit questions, that asshole made us wait for two hours for one damn prescription. But it's for something that's supposed to put him out, so at least it'll be worth it all, I guess."

"Hell, Dad, I might wanna try some of that shit," Dean said with a chuckle, sheer relief at the thought of Braden sleeping through the night easing some of the tension that had been piling up for weeks.

"You and me both, kiddo. Now you and Aubrey hurry up—I wanna get movin'."

"Yessir," Dean told him, his good humor starting to abate as that last bit sunk in.

_Another twelve-hour drive. Great. And ten to one says Dad's gonna watch me like a hawk to make sure I don't buy any soda. Or coffee. Or energy drinks. Fuck._

* * *

**FINAL DESTINATION: SEATTLE, WASHINGTON**

It wasn't a loud noise that brought him out of a dead sleep, Dean decided as he shoved the pillow off his head and sat up. His eyes scanned the motel room, dimly lit through the slightly open curtains of the room, hardly surprised when he saw Braden up.

_Did I not fucking _tell_ Dad that we needed to stop and get the damn prescription filled along the way? But, no. 'He'll be fine for tonight, Dean.' Shows how much you know, Dad,_ Dean thought, pissed that after driving twelve hours—not counting the five pit-stops or the two stops for food—he was once again having to leave a warm bed to go after his younger brother, who _would_ have been sleeping the sleep of the dead by now if their father had stopped like Dean suggested.

A quick glance at his father showed that John was out cold on the small fold-out couch and completely unaware that Braden had gotten up, much less that he was now working on something with a focus that Dean knew couldn't be good. With a weary sigh, Dean slid out of bed and moved toward the window where Braden was sitting on the floor, using the narrow strip of predawn light coming through the crack in the curtains to pore over newspapers, maps, and—_oh shit_—their father's journal, which Dean was pretty damn sure the old man had not given the fourteen-year-old permission to use.

Braden was mumbling under his breath as Dean approached, and Dean frowned, slowing as he neared in the hopes of making out what the younger Winchester was saying. Of course, that was before he saw the extent of the damage that Braden had already accomplished.

_Ah, fuck. How did we not hear him doing this?_

Braden sat on the dingy carpet next to a partially drawn sigil that Dean didn't recognize and an uncapped Sharpie that Dean couldn't help but glare at. But Braden's attention was obviously no longer on the unfinished artwork, his finger tracing paths across several different maps, even as his eyes darted back and forth to the newspapers, which Dean knew for sure his father had not intended for his youngest son to snatch.

_And he _sure as hell_ didn't mean for you to draw on them_, Dean thought, eyeing the red Sharpie marks that were now liberally scrawled over most of the newspaper pages. _Dad's gonna shit a brick when he sees this. _

There was an intensity to Braden's features that was eerie, but when Dean heard what his younger brother was actually saying, chills went down his spine.

_What the –?_

"The signs…" Braden was whispering to himself. "They're there…just hafta find 'em… find 'em before _he _does," he mumbled. "Know what he wants, then know how to stop him."

"Braden," Dean said cautiously, moving carefully towards his younger brother as the boy stilled, his eyes staring blankly into space before he slowly lifted his head to stare right through Dean. "Braden, you need to go back to bed."

"Shh. I'm lookin'," Braden told him, his words slurred but solemn as he turned back to the materials in front of him.

"Looking for what?" Dean asked, knowing that the odds of getting a logical answer were slim at best, but figuring it was worth a shot.

"Signs."

"Signs of what?"

"Of things to come."

"What are you talking about?"

"Something's coming… Don't have it all figured out yet…Gotta know, though," Braden told him absently, picking up the red Sharpie and circling an area on one of the maps, his face grim.

"Bray, Dad is gonna flip when he sees this—please tell me you didn't write in his journal," Dean said, reaching down to pick up the article in question. Luckily, there wasn't a single mark on any of the pages that Dean could see, and with a sigh of relief, he tucked it under his arm and reached down to haul Braden to his feet.

"No," Braden told him firmly, shaking his head, and with a groan, Dean knew it was going to be one of those nights when Braden got so intensely focused on whatever the hell he was doing that he resisted any attempts to get him back to bed.

_Shit. _

And of course, it only got worse, as John stirred at the noise.

"Dean? What the hell?"

"The usual," Dean said, tossing his father's book onto the nightstand before turning back to Braden, who'd used the moment of inattention to grab what he could and backing away.

"You got him, or do you need me to—"

"I got it, Dad."

_You don't want to see what he did to your stuff yet. _

"Bray, come on," Dean told his younger brother. "We're all tired, here. Let's just go back to bed, and you can finish whatever it is in the morning, okay?" he murmured cajolingly, laying his hand on Braden's shoulder to lead him back to bed. But Braden jerked back, his eyes panicked as he held fast to his papers, the red Sharpie held in a tight fist. He scooted backwards, hitting the wall abruptly and with enough force to jar him awake. With a jolt, he stilled, his gaze filling with confusion as he frowned back at Dean.

"I…I don't…what…" Braden broke off, and Dean knew his little brother was upset now, confused by the sudden wake-up caused by his encounter with the wall.

"C'mon, little brother—let's get you back to bed, huh?" he said softly, well aware that sudden awakenings left Braden too disoriented to process much beyond 'go back to bed.' Braden slowly nodded, his manner hesitant as he watched Dean bend to haul him to his feet. He reached for the newspapers and maps Braden held, and suddenly Braden backed away again, shaking his head with something akin to desperation on his face.

"Bray, I'm just gonna put 'em on the table for now, okay? I'm not gonna hurt 'em."

"No, Dean!" Braden cried. "No, I'm…I'm…I'm not…finished! I…I need...I need to finish..." Braden told him anxiously, sounding on the edge of tears as he cradled his things in his arms.

"It's late, dude—you need sleep first. You can finish in the morning," he told him softly, sighing when Braden shook his head vehemently. "Alright, fine—hang on to 'em then," Dean said, too tired to fight with the younger boy over a bunch of paper. "But you gotta go back to bed, okay?"

Braden's eyes searched Dean's face, trying amidst his confusion to discern if Dean was telling him the truth. Finally, he skirted around Dean and walked back to bed, hugging the marked-up maps and newspapers to his chest as he laid back down, staring back at Dean with a sad, weary look before he tightened his grip on his things and slid backwards until he was back-to-back with Aubrey.

Dean watched him for a second before stepping forward to pull the covers up around the fourteen-year-old's shoulders. He crawled back into bed a second later, sighing as he sank pleasantly into the mattress. It was silent for a long moment before he heard the crinkle of papers, and he bit back a few choice swear words before he rolled over, intending to tell Braden to cut it out. But the noise stopped before he could get the words out, and after a minute, he relaxed, burrowing under his pillow once again.

"California."

The whispered word was almost inaudible, so much so that even as he lifted his head to glance back at Braden, he wasn't even sure he'd heard it. But when he didn't hear anything else, he shook his head, telling himself he'd imagined it.

He'd wish he hadn't soon enough. Because two days later, Braden was gone.

* * *

A/N: As always, thanks so much for the reviews, everyone! It always makes me so happy to see them in my Inbox after I post! Oh, and by the way, hope no one from Lincoln or Seattle was offended—I've never been to either city, but I'm sure they're lovely in reality! :)

**Sammyluvr83**: I'm glad you liked the John and Braden bit in the last chapter—what did you think of the Dean and Braden scene in this one? Thanks for reviewing, by the way—I appreciate it!

**bit952**: Aw, thanks, bit! It's sweet of you to say so, and I'm glad you're enjoying it!

**zuimar**: I'm finally feeling better—thanks for the well-wishes. Anyways, sorry you had to wait so long for your Dean chapter—it was awfully hard to write this one for some reason. I hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to know what you thought. I'm still working out what's going to happen later, but I've got the gist of it down, at least enough to fuel suspense for another few chapters or so. After that, though, who knows? Thanks for reviewing!

**PRACK**: Yeah, I like pissed off/angsty Dean, too—yeah, I totally give him a hard time in my stories, don't I? But I usually try to fix him, so do I get points for that? I should, you know. And I haven't forgotten that you just uploaded a new chapter, and I'm totally going to review for you--it's on my To Do list, and with any luck, it'll be waiting alongside the alert for this chapter...so you'll probably have already read it by the time you see this, which means this is a waste of space...right, anyways...ttyl! Thanks for reviewing!

**eggylaine**: Oh wow, you were late for work just to read my story? I'm touched! I hate when I find a good story to read early in the morning and don't have time to finish reading it—because then, I spend the rest of the day thinking about it. As far as the characters, I've been trying really hard to keep the twins consistent, carrying over personality quirks from their eight-year-old selves. Glad to know I've been successful so far! Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing!

**rholou**: You know, I figured, Aubrey's still a teenage girl—why wouldn't she be worried about normal things like that in the midst of all of the typical Winchester issues? Glad you liked that! Thanks for reviewing!

**alwaysjensen**: Yeah, I'm trying very hard to keep Bray and Aubrey consistent with their younger selves—I keep going back and reading over old chapters to make sure that I don't forget their little personality quirks. How'd you like the Dean angst this go-round?

**irishgirl9:** Okay, so obviously, Braden is just as secretive as his father, so even though he's filled Aubrey in on a lot of what's going on, he's not going to be blurting out the truth to John or Dean anytime soon. Besides, if he did that, we'd miss out on a lot of angst and suspense, right?!

**Simone1**: Ok, so it probably wasn't as soon as you would have liked, but I updated as soon as I got a chance. Glad you're enjoying the story—and thanks so much for reviewing! Reviews make me smile!


	28. Ask Me No Questions

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter, everyone!! Thanks to mimishell for beta-ing, too! She gets the award for Fastest Return of a Chapter Ever! She got it back to me within like, a day! Awesome! Anyways, hope I caught any and all mistakes—if not, sorry, you guys!

Chapter 28: Ask Me No Questions, I'll Tell You No Lies

Even after two years, it was still completely surreal sometimes_. _Glancing down at the crown of Jessica's head as she walked alongside him, her cheek nestled against his bicep as she held his arm, Sam couldn't help but notice the complete strangeness of it all. _Even after two years, it still feels weird to be _here, _instead of listening to Dean and Aubrey bitch at each other while Dad has a stick up his ass about a hunt, nevermind whatever weird shit Braden's would be up to._

No, coming back from something as normal as a date was as far from life as a Winchester as one could get. He spared a moment to smile down at Jess before his eyes went back to their surroundings, his gaze searching for any possible threat, unable to completely leave behind all that his father had taught him.

"_Always be on your guard, Sam, especially at night—darkness is nothing but a haven for potential threats. You stay alert, understand?" _

_Yeah, Dad, I understand._

And he really did, he realized, as he once again looked at his girlfriend.

_Because if anything ever happened to her because I let my guard down, I'd never forgive myself_.

So while she kept her eyes out for puddles—she hated having wet feet almost as much as Aubrey—Sam kept his eyes open for anything resembling a threat, supernatural or otherwise. He didn't mind, really, because, somehow, allowing Jess to maintain the sense of innocence that he hadn't had since he was eight-years-old made him feel just a little closer to normal. Even though he could never really be normal, he mused. It was hard to be normal knowing what was out there.

As Jess hopped over a particularly deep puddle, Sam couldn't help the wave of sadness that washed over him, because even though Jess wasn't nearly as verbal about it, rain-puddle avoidance still managed to bring to mind too many memories of Aubrey's numerous objections to rain: her hair getting frizzy, her feet getting cold and wet, the hem of her jeans getting soaked, her head allegedly hurting from a change in the barometric pressure…

It always made him miss her. Almost as much as Dean.

"Sam?" Jess asked, breaking into his train of thought as her blue-gray eyes stared up at him questioningly.

"Yeah?" he replied, shaking his head to rid himself of the melancholy feeling that was threatening to sink in.

"Are you okay?" she asked, casting a worried look at him as he shortened his step for her.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he told her, kissing the top of her head with a smile, putting on a happy face just for her.

And he _was_ happy. Most of the time. And if certain things made him think of his family, well, Jess didn't need to know about it. They'd been together for a little over a year now, and he hadn't told her much about his family beyond that he _had_ one.

Unfortunately, it was starting to piss her off, too, he knew.

_Well, maybe not piss her off, per se. But it's hard to ignore the evidence—the sighs, the looks, the frowns. She's getting frustrated with me. Damn it, why does she have to start countering every excuse I give her? I don't want to talk about my family. I've gotta come up with something reasonable to tell her, something to get her off my case, just enough to buy me some time. _

Sam led the way across the street to their apartment building, Jessica's hand gently settled into the crook of his arm as the two of them headed for the door, Sam already reaching to open the door for her. It was still a relatively early night—only about 8:30— but they'd decided to go ahead and call it a night, neither of them willing to sit in the rain for the remaining quarter of the football game.

"I really hope I remembered to wash my fuzzy socks," Jess mumbled, as she stepped past him into the only slightly warmer air of the foyer.

"You didn't," Sam told her with a chuckle, smiling at the disappointed frown on her face before he kissed her. "But lucky for you, _I_ did."

"I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you," she told him, casting an affectionate smile up at him before breaking away to hurry up the stairs. With a laugh, he followed her, charging up the steps after her as she playfully raced him up to the third floor landing. It was only his quick reflexes and the relatively sturdy handrail that saved him from tripping into her when she came to an abrupt halt at the top of the stairs.

"Jess—"

"Sam," she murmured worriedly, backing up against him, and Sam looked over her shoulder, maneuvering in front of her when he saw the figure huddled beside their door. His hand moved toward the small of his back, reaching for a weapon that he suddenly realized was no longer there.

_Damn it. _

He could hear it now, the sound of one of his father's seemingly endless lectures on Winchester gun policy: _"Never go anywhere unarmed, son—'cause standing face-to-face with something that's trying to kill you is the worst time to realize you've got nothing to protect yourself with." _

_Okay, I'll concede that Dad was right on that one. But damn, what a way to come to that conclusion. Shit._

Motioning for Jess to stay back under cover of the shadowed stairwell, he took a cautious step forward, not exactly comforted by the fact that the figure hadn't moved. He couldn't see its face, because whoever it was had put his back to the wall and pulled his knees up, hiding his face in his arms.

"Hey!" Samdemanded, his body tensing as he waited for a reaction, ignoring the feel of Jess's hands fisted in the back of his sweatshirt. But he still wasn't ready for what he saw when the figure lifted its head.

_Oh, this is bad. This is really bad._

"Braden, what the hell?! Are you hurt?!" he asked, his worry and dismay growing as he charged up the remaining stairs and clamored for his brother.

"No," Braden whispered, shivering as he looked up at Sam with familiar blue eyes, eyes that were staring back at Sam with a haunted expression.

Sam dropped down into a crouch beside the fourteen-year-old, laying a hand on Braden's shoulder only to frown at the cold, damp fabric, no doubt a victim of the rain from the storm front that was moving through the area.

"Bray, what happened?" Sam asked, running his gaze over his brother in search of injuries, even as his hand came up to check for fever.

"I…I dun-no. Something…some-thing's coming, Sa-Sam," Braden whispered, his teeth chattering, though from shock or cold, Sam couldn't say.

"Sam?" Jess murmured questioningly, her soft voice suddenly reminding Sam that she was there. "Who—"

"This is my younger brother, Braden," Sam told her, trying to hide the worry in his voice.

"What's he—"

"I don't know," Sam interrupted, anticipating her question. "He shouldn't be here, not alone anyway. Bray, what about the others—are they okay?" he asked, his worry growing by the second at the thought of one of them being hurt. Because there was no way that Braden would be here alone if something wasn't terribly wrong.

"I…guess so," Braden told him, staring up at him in confusion.

"Then where are they?"

"Dad's not…um…he went…somewhere..."

"What about Aubrey? And Dean?" he asked, praying that Braden wasn't going to tell him his older brother was hurt. Or worse.

_Dad would have called if something had happened, no matter how pissed off at me he was. Right? I mean, he wouldn't keep something like that from—_

"They're okay, I think."

"Then what are you doing here?" Sam asked, confused and worried at Braden's less-than-reassuring reply.

"I dunno."

"You don't know?! Braden, how do you not know?!"

"I fell asleep," he mumbled. "I woke up here."

_Shit._

"Braden, where were you when you fell asleep?"

"Um…Seattle."

_What the fuck?! Seattle?!_

"But the others were with you?" he asked, fighting to stay calm and get more answers instead of giving into the urge to completely freak out.

"Uh-huh," Braden mumbled, staring back at Sam with bleary, confused eyes as Sam gripped his shoulders.

"So are they still there? Are they still in Seattle?" Sam asked, tightening his grip just slightly, trying to ground not only his brother but himself as well.

"I guess."

_Dammit!_

"Braden, does that mean they don't know you're here?"

"I guess."

"You guess?! Braden, Dean is probably freaking out right now! What the _hell_ is going on?!"

"Sam," Jess broke in, cutting him off with a no-nonsense tone, "he's soaked, he's exhausted, and he's looking a bit peaked. So maybe you should cut the Q&A short and help him inside." There was a hint of steel underlying the mild suggestion, and Sam knew better than to argue. Nevermind the fact that she was absolutely right, he admitted with a sense of shame.

_Nice job, Sam—your little brother shows up outside your door, looking like absolute shit, and instead of getting him inside, you sit in this drafty-as-hell hallway and cross-examine him. Yeah, definitely not going to win any Brother-of-the-Year awards…Not that I would be anyway, not after two years of not talking to him…_

"Shit, I'm sorry, Bray," Sam murmured as he lay a hand on Braden's forehead, frowning at the warmth emanating from his younger brother.

Braden shrugged one shoulder, either unconcerned or too tired to care as he gazed back at Sam with dull eyes.

"C'mon, little brother, let's get you inside," Sam told him as he hauled Braden up, holding on as the fourteen-year-old swayed unsteadily on his feet. "You've grown," he remarked as Jess stepped around him to unlock the door, hurrying inside as Sam helped Braden into the living room.

"You've been gone awhile," Braden told him bluntly, never one to mince words.

_What's sad is I can't tell if he's snarking on me, or if he's just stating a fact. _

Truth was, Sam used to know the difference. But now…now, he couldn't say for certain.

"How about a warm shower? You might feel a bit better," he said softly, choosing to ignore the possible insult. After all, arguing with a sibling was only fun if said sibling didn't look and feel like shit.

"Nuh-uh," Braden muttered, dropping onto the couch in a boneless heap. He was unresisting as Sam pulled the wet hoodie over his head and dropped it to the floor. The white t-shirt underneath followed and Sam had managed to get Braden's shoes, socks, and jeans off by the time Jess returned with a towel, a blanket, and a change of clothes. She passed the towel to Sam who immediately started ruffling Braden's hair with it as she dropped the change of clothes onto the back of the couch. Braden eyed her, his eyes suspicious as he watched her the way a wary mouse eyes a hungry cat.

"Easy, Bray—this is my girlfriend Jess."

Braden pulled his gaze away from Jess to look Sam in the eye, silently asking the question that never failed to come up whenever any of the Winchesters brought an outsider into the crazy, mixed-up world that characterized their lives.

_Does she know?_

With a minute shake of his head, Sam eyed his brother to see what he'd do, praying he wasn't going to say something to Jess. Braden dropped his gaze, and with a sigh of relief, Sam grabbed the clothes off the back of the couch and plopped them in Braden's lap. But Braden didn't move to pick them up, staring listlessly at them as though he wasn't quite sure what they were doing there.

With a sigh, Sam reached out, lifting the dry Stanford hoodie and pulling it over Braden's head, and with a weary sigh, Braden finally moved, putting his arms in the sleeves, frowning slightly when the ends of the sleeves fell below his fingertips.

"It's too big," he muttered, staring back at Sam with a weary look.

"Yeah, well, it'll have to do for now. Go ahead and pull those sweatpants on, okay? I'm gonna go get a pillow—you can sleep here on the couch."

"kay," Braden said, not moving, and Sam sighed. "Braden? Did you hear me?"

"Uh-huh."

"So you're gonna get the sweatpants on, right?"

"Uh-huh."

But he still didn't move. Jessica stood and silently went to fetch the pillow while Sam wrestled his unresisting brother into a pair of sweatpants that were too big for him. Braden was almost asleep before his head hit the pillow.

"Listen, Braden sleepwalks sometimes, so could you keep an eye on him for me for a few minutes? I've gotta go call my brother, let him know that Braden's here." If she wondered why he was going to call his brother instead of his father, she didn't ask, and Sam was grateful as she nodded. Walking into the bedroom they shared, he pulled his cell-phone out of his pocket, staring down at it for a long time.

_What if he hangs up on me? What if he's mad? Would he still be mad after all this time? Or maybe he's moved on, doesn't care anymore. _

They hadn't exactly talked since he'd left that night two years ago. Sam had been too scared to call, scared that his older brother would have sided with their dad, scared that he'd find out his number had been blocked, and scared that Aubrey would never forgive him for leaving and that Braden would disregard him as easily as he disregarded most people that weren't within the small circle of those labeled 'family.'

He couldn't say for certain which was worse, not being forgiven or being forgotten. Finally, he realized he couldn't sit and stare at the phone forever, so with a deep breath, he pulled up Dean's number and hit Send.

It rang only once before Dean's voice suddenly barked in his ear, the panic and worry in his older brother's voice immediately evident.

"_Sam! Please tell me you're calling because Braden's there with you! I'm fucking losing it here—we can't fi—"_

"Yeah. Yeah, he's here," Sam reassured him, wondering in the back of his mind if Dean was only talking to him because he was worried about Braden.

"_And he's alright?"_ Dean asked, letting out a sigh of relief, even as the worry remained in his voice.

"Uh, yeah, I think so. He's maybe running a slight fever, but he's asleep now, so I was just gonna leave him alone, see if he sleeps it off."

"_Whatever you do, don't take your fucking eyes off him—he's liable to slip out of the damn door when you're not looking."_

"He's gotten that bad?"

"_Yeah. Bad enough that Dad went and got him sleeping pills from the doctor."_

"Uh, I hate to break it to you, but…I don't think they're working."

"_No shit, Sherlock,"_ Dean said with more than a hint of annoyance in his voice. There was a long moment of silence after that, and after two years of not talking to his older brother, Sam realized he couldn't leave it like that, not after all that time.

"You okay?" he asked softly, hesitant at the reception he might receive from his 'avoid any possible chick-flick moments' brother.

"_No. I've been going out of my fucking mind here, Sammy. Dad's freaking out, and Aubrey's a damn wreck."_

"Is he there with you?"

"_No, he's on his way back from Santa Rosa."_

"California? What was he doing there?"

"_How should I know? It's not like he tells me shit these days."_

_Why not?_

The question echoed in Sam's mind, but something in his brother's tone warned Sam not to ask. Instead, he changed the subject, reluctant to get off the phone now that he'd broken down and called.

"So where are you now? Are you still in Seattle, like Braden said?"

"_Yeah."_

"So Braden sleepwalked here from _Seattle_?"

"_Yeah. Scary, isn't it?"_

"Damn, Dean, anything could have happened to him."

"_But you know what? It's not him I'm worried about. Bad shit happens when he sleepwalks."_

"Like what?"

"_Nevermind," _Dean said vaguely. _"Just keep your eyes open tonight, okay? I don't want him wandering off anymore. He's getting worse."_

"Okay, I will."

"_I mean it, Sammy—he's acting all kinds of freaky, man. We're not just talking aimless wandering here. We're talking midnight research into weird shit, strange wards on the floor—some I've never even seen before. I don't know, dude, something's going on with him."_

"What does Dad say?" Sam asked cautiously.

"_He hasn't said much of anything. At least not to me."_

"He pissed off at you?"

"_I'm not talking about this with you."_

"Dean, I—"

"_No, Sammy."_

It was quiet for a long moment before Dean spoke again, changing the subject just like he always did when something came up that he didn't want to talk about.

_Winchester Coping Mechanism #1: Avoidance. When anything remotely deep and uncomfortable arises, pretend it doesn't exist and change the subject._

"_So listen, I was thinking…me and Aubrey could use some sleep, but if we leave here by nine tomorrow morning, we could be there by ten or so tomorrow night. That okay with you?"_

"Uh yeah."

"_Your girlfriend's not gonna get pissed off about all of us showing up, is she?"_

"No, of course not—wait. How did you know I have a girlfriend?"

"_Please, Sammy—I'm your older brother. I know all kinds of shit about you. 'sides, do you really think me and Dad would just let you go off to school without checking in on you from time to time?"_

"Oh…so… is that how Braden knew where to find me?"

"_Probably. But then again, it's hard to say with him."_

"So…you and Dad checked up on me?"

"_Yeah."_

"Why didn't you stop by? I would've liked to see you," Sam told him softly.

"_And Dad? Would you have wanted to see him, too?" _he asked quietly, well aware that their dad still stood between them like the elephant in the room._ "'Cause he was usually with me."_

"I…"

_I don't know. _

"_Look," _Dean started, not waiting for an answer, much to Sam's relief. _"Dad's probably gonna be coming, too, soon as I give him a call and let him know what's going on. You gonna be okay with that?"_

_That's a good question_, Sam thought, not really sure how he felt, to be honest. A part of him wanted nothing more than to see his father again. But the other part of him was scared shitless at the thought of confronting the man who'd told him in no uncertain terms to stay gone if he walked out the door. There was still some resentment there, Sam admitted, but if he was honest with himself, he missed his father.

"Is he still mad?"

"_No. Not that we talk about it or anything. But I don't think he was ever really mad at you in the first place."_

"Uh, Dean, you were there—I don't know what you heard that night, but I'm pretty sure I heard Dad screaming at me, and I don't think it was because he was thinking warm, fuzzy thoughts about me."

"_Sammy, he wasn't mad. He was scared…scared he was gonna lose you to some fugly if he let you go,"_ Dean told him gruffly. And suddenly, Sam was reminded of a long ago conversation with Pastor Jim. The pastor had tried to tell him that his father was afraid, but Sam hadn't really listened, hadn't really believed that his old man could be afraid of anything. But now he wondered if maybe there wasn't something to what Pastor Jim had said after all.

"Why didn't he just tell me that, then? We could've worked something out," Sam said, feeling a sense of sadness fill him at the thought that if his father had only talked to him that night, maybe two years of loneliness and regret could have been avoided.

"_Dude, when have you ever known Dad to talk about his feelings?"_

_True._

"Yeah…" he said, trailing off. Because it's not as if he really knew what to say.

_I mean, what do you say when you find out that your father kicked you out of the family because he was scared but too proud to say so? _

"_So…you been doing okay, Sammy?" _Dean asked, the hint of discomfort in his voice enough to tell Sam that his older brother was veering closer to a chick-flick moment than he really wanted to. His willingness to do so anyway was touching, though, Sam thought, loving his brother for that.

"Well, you know, it's been good mostly. I've got Jess, and school's going okay …but damn, I've missed you, Dean."

"_It hasn't exactly been fun without you, either. I mean, we don't talk about it or anything—you know, cause we're not a bunch of pansy-ass girls—but yeah… it hasn't been the same without you."_

"Does _Dad_ talk about me at all?" Sam asked softly, not at all certain he wanted to know the answer.

"_Dude, what part of 'we don't talk about it' do you not understand? Look, I need to go. I gotta call Dad and let him know that Bray's okay before he has a fucking coronary. Have Braden call Aub in the morning, will ya'? She's pretty anxious to talk to him."_

"Oh, uh… sure."

"_We'll see you tomorrow night, okay?"_

"Yeah, okay," Sam replied, wishing that his brother sounded a little more disappointed about ending the call. It was stupid, he knew, but there it was nevertheless. _Yeah, like a phone conversation can make up for two years of silence. _

"_Remember what I told you, okay? Keep your eyes on Braden, alright?"_

"Alright."

"_Night, Sammy."_

"Night," Sam murmured, listening to the dial tone echo in his ear long after Dean had hung up.

And that, Sam knew, was as close as Dean Winchester would get to expressing his feelings on the matter, his avoidance of all things remotely emotional in nature well intact.

* * *

"Is everything okay?" Jess asked as he walked back into the living room after tucking his phone into his back pocket.

"Uh, yeah. Dean and Aubrey should get here sometime tomorrow night."

"What about your dad?"

"Dad's not with them."

"Where is he?"

"I'm not sure," Sam told her, not really liking where the questions were going.

_Giving her too many answers sets a very bad precedent. Of course, when your little brother shows up on your doorstep without a clue as to how he got there, avoiding your girlfriend's questions becomes pretty damn impossible._

"But you're going to call him, right?" she persisted.

"Uh, I wasn't planning to, no."

"And why not?"

"Jess, I've told you—Dad and I don't really get along."

"Sam, I think that's pretty irrelevant at this point! His fourteen-year-old just showed up on our doorstep, drenched and completely confused as to how he got there. You need to call and let him know that your brother's alright."

"Dean's taking care of it, okay? It's fine. Dean asked me to stay with Bray and make sure he doesn't wander off again, so I've sort of got a long night ahead of me. Do you think we could table this discussion for later?"

She stared at him, and Sam had to fight the urge to look away.

_Yeah, I can go head-to-head with John Winchester, but I can barely look my girlfriend in the eye when she has that look on her face. Sad, Sam. Sad. Totally whipped._

She glanced once at Braden's sleeping form on the couch before she finally took pity on him and nodded.

"We're not through with this, Sam. You're going to talk to me about this, and it's going to be sooner rather than later."

"Yeah, I get it," he said, silently thanking God that she'd decided to let it go. Even if the reprieve was only temporary.

_I only need a little time to come up with a reasonable explanation that she'll accept. Just a little. And hell, since it looks like I'll be up all night watching Braden sleep, I'll have plenty of time to come up with something plausible._

"Do you want me to sit up with you for awhile?"

"Nah, that's alright. Go on to bed—I'll see you in the morning." She kissed him goodnight, and with a sigh, Sam dropped into the armchair, grabbing one of his textbooks, a pen, and a legal pad as he settled in for what was no doubt going to be a long night.

Despite a few close calls, Sam managed to keep his word to his older brother, staying awake to watch Braden during the night to ensure that the fourteen-year-old stayed put during the night. Of course, Braden actually slept soundly, which, Sam grudgingly acknowledged meant that he _could_ have gotten some sleep instead of sitting awake watching his brother catch all the Zs.

Needless to say, by the time Braden woke up at 7:30 the next morning, Sam was wiped. After confirming that Braden's fever from the night before was now gone, Sam stood, ready to hit the sack.

"I need to talk to you."

"Braden," Sam began, but Braden cut him off.

"You need to come with me. You can't stay here anymore," Braden told him, the seriousness in his voice somewhat at odds with the little boy, sleep-tousled look he had going right at that moment.

"Braden, I've been up all night—I can't get into this with you right now. I'm gonna try and catch a few hours of sleep. Help yourself to whatever's in the kitchen for breakfast, don't leave the apartment, and keep the noise down," he told Braden tiredly.

"But Sam—"

"_Later_, Braden."

Braden subsided without a word, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly as he slumped back against the cushions, his face tight with carefully controlled anger.

"Listen, call Aubrey in a little while—Dean said she's anxious to talk to you. And dude, if Jess gets up in the next little while, try not to do anything that's going to freak her out, okay?"

"Sure, Sam," Braden said evenly, his face once again devoid of emotion as he blinked up at Sam. If Sam had been a little less sleep-deprived, he might have been mildly concerned, but as it was, he disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

* * *

"So you could have told me that Braden isn't exactly a conversationalist," Jess announced as he emerged from the bedroom sometime around noon to see her standing in front of the door with her eyebrow arched.

_Oh. Whoops._

"Ah, Jess, I'm sorry," he told her wearily, rubbing at his eyes with a sigh. "I should have gotten up sooner or something—I didn't mean to leave you to entertain him."

"You were tired, so I forgive you. But next time, you've got to warn me. Are your other siblings as…'stoically silent' as Braden?"

Sam couldn't help it—he burst out laughing. Barring psychological distress, Dean was seldom silent, and Aubrey tended to chatter incessantly, whether there was a need to speak or not.

"What?!" Jess asked, grinning as Sam continued to chuckle.

"No, they're not 'stoically silent.' Of course, after you get to know them, you'll start to wish they were sometimes."

"So does that mean I'll get a _chance_ to get to know them?" she asked softly, and suddenly, Sam didn't know what to say. The smile fell from his lips, and he looked away, staring at the floor as he struggled to find an answer.

_What am I supposed to tell you, Jess? That I want you to get to know them but I'm scared that you'll learn too much and never want to have anything to do with me after this? That I'm not sure they'll stick around long enough to reveal anything anyway, because they're still hunting and I'm not?_

The truth was, now that he stopped to really think about it, he realized he was just plain scared. Scared that the relationship with his family, after two years of silence, was irreparably damaged, that even though he'd spoken on the phone with Dean, they'd never be brothers the same way they once were. His present interaction with Braden hadn't been significant enough for him to get a read on the dynamic that now existed between him and the rest of his family, and the uncertainty left him feeling increasingly worried.

"Sam?" Jess asked, all signs of mirth dropping from her face as she stepped forward with a concerned look. "Baby, are you okay?"

"Yeah…yeah," he said, shaking his head to clear away the worry. "Sorry, I'm just tired. Look, do you mind fixing lunch while I go grab a shower?"

"Sure," she said, a hint of worry still on her face as she stepped back to let him pass.

"You okay with Braden for a little longer?"

"Yeah, I was just teasing about earlier—he's pretty much been sitting around listening to me chatter at him. I didn't know what else to do, you know? Oh well. He's quiet, but at least he's listening, right? Or at least looks like he's listening—he nods in all the right places anyway."

_He's probably used to it._

"He amuses himself for the most part, Jess, so don't feel like you have to entertain him. He'll manage until I get out," he told her, laying a kiss on her temple before going into the bathroom to grab a shower.

"Hurry up," she called teasingly through the door. "We're not waiting on you!"

"Yeah, alright!"

* * *

By the time he emerged fifteen minutes later, he could hear Jess in the kitchen, no doubt ready to serve lunch. Still feeling guilty for leaving her to entertain his brother—who wasn't exactly easy to entertain, as he wasn't one to talk much—he hurried through a shower and threw on a pair of jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt before heading to the kitchen.

"Hey," he said, coming through the doorway with a sheepish smile.

"Oh, hey, it's about time," Jess replied with a smile, kissing his cheek as she passed him to get a bag of baby carrots from the fridge.

"Yeah, sorry about that. You two alright?" he asked, eyeing his younger brother speculatively. Braden was sitting at the table, one of Sam's previously unused legal pads in front of him as he doodled in it with a pen.

_God, please let him be drawing something normal, something that's not a ward or sigil against demonic entities. If Jess sees any of that, she's gonna start asking questions I don't know how to answer._

Peeking over Braden's shoulder as he came to the table, Sam was relieved to see that the sketches were nothing overtly suspicious.

_Granted, doodling Hebrew and Greek letters isn't exactly what anyone would call 'normal,' but at least Jess won't automatically think something's up. She'll think he's weird, yeah, but she'll shrug it off._

"Bray, did you call Aubrey?"

Braden nodded, not looking up from the page he was doodling, and Sam sighed.

_Okay, I can take a hint. You're pissed that I didn't want to talk this morning. I get it._

He was debating whether or not to say something when Jess came to the table carrying plates loaded with sandwiches, chips, carrots, and ranch dip. Braden slid the legal pad onto his lap, aiming a look at him that Sam couldn't quite decipher. Before he could ponder on it though, Jess placed a plate in front of him, doing the same for Braden.

"Sam, you said your brother and sister are coming here tonight?" Jess asked as she bustled around the small kitchen, grabbing napkins and cans of soda, balancing those in one arm while she carried her plate to the table.

"Yeah."

"We need to figure out sleeping arrangements, then," she told him, sliding a soda in front of him as she sat down.

"Well, um, I don't think they were planning to stay here, Jess," Sam replied, suddenly wishing he'd thought to ask Dean while he'd had him on the phone.

_But what would I have wanted him to say?_ _I want to see my family more than anything…but with Jess here…what if they let something slip? It could ruin everything I have going here._

"Well, of course they're staying here, Sam," Jess went on, unconcerned by Sam's abrupt silence. "We're not sending your family to a hotel!"

"I didn't say that," he protested. "I'm just saying that Dean didn't mention that they were planning to stay…"

"Sam. It's probably going to be late before they get here—we can't just send them on their merry way to try their luck at getting a decent motel room in the middle of the night."

_It doesn't have to be 'decent' per se…it's not like we didn't stay in worse growing up._

"Jess…"

"No, Sam. They're staying with us unless your brother says they've got other plans."

And that was that, Sam knew, because when Jess became that adamant about something, she wasn't going to budge.

Sam glanced at Braden to see if he'd pitch in and help, maybe offer up some sort of 'Yeah, Sam's right, Jess,' but Braden didn't appear to be at all interested, his eyes focused solely on his lunch, leaving Sam to sigh and let Jess have her way. With a smile that was more than enough to tell Sam that she was quite pleased with herself, Jess turned to Braden.

"So Braden, you've been pretty quiet this morning. Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"

"What do you wanna know?"

"Um…well, you're, what, fifteen?"

"Fourteen."

"Okay, so what sort of things are you into—do you have any hobbies?"

Braden gave her a half-hearted shrug before turning back to his sandwich with a frown.

_Yeah, sure he has hobbies, Jess, but 'hunting down evil' isn't really one that you share with people._

"Nothing?"

"C'mon, there's gotta be something…" she prodded, trying to coax an answer out of him. And because Braden was Braden, he didn't fight it, just shrugged and gave her an answer to avoid making it an issue.

"Skateboarding."

"Yeah?"

"When did you get into that?" Sam asked, surprised since his brother had never shown much interest in anything remotely 'mainstream.'

Braden shrugged again before leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest.

"So what do you do when you're not skateboarding?" Jess asked him, trying to keep the reticent fourteen-year-old engaged.

"Draw."

"Oh, cool," she said lightly. "Are you any good?"

Another shrug.

_Okay, now I'm starting to see why Dad finds shrugging to be a socially unacceptable form of response. That's annoying as hell. Nevermind that it's rude. _

"Braden, quit it?"

"Quit what?"

"Shrugging instead of answering—regardless of whether you're feeling talkative or not, you know better than to ignore someone who's speaking to you. It's rude, and you know good and well that _Dad_ wouldn't put up with that crap, so I don't know why you're trying it here."

"You're not Dad," Braden said matter-of-factly, and damned if Sam could discern if his brother was just being his usual self or being a smartass.

"True, but that doesn't mean I'm any more inclined to put up with it than he is. And even if you don't want to listen to _me_, you know as well as I do that if _Dean_ finds out, he'll definitely have something to say to you about it."

Braden didn't argue, and Sam only barely managed to hide a sigh of relief that his older brother still held significant enough sway to forestall any future problems with his younger brother. Braden knew the score—yeah, sure, Dad was the one who handled most of the punishments. But only if he was there. And more often than not, he wasn't. They all knew the truth—it was Dean they would have to face if they screwed up. And Dean didn't tolerate rudeness to women any more than Dad did, a fact which Braden was no doubt well aware of.

"Now quit acting like a jerk and apologize," Sam told his younger brother, nodding in Jess's direction. Without argument, Braden turned to Jessica with a solemn expression.

"Sorry," he said, not really apologetic at all, Sam noticed with mild annoyance. It wasn't really that Braden was acting insensitive, Sam decided as he stared back at Braden, just indifferent. And _that_, he knew, was just Braden.

"Jess, you'll have to forgive Braden," he told her, casting an annoyed expression at his brother. "Despite how it looks, he isn't actually _trying _to be rude, it just comes naturally for him. Aubrey normally does most of the talking for the two of them, so Braden's under the misconception that silence is an acceptable response to social niceties like conversation."

"Sam, you're doing it again," she told him with an amused smile.

"Doing what?"

"Going all 'courtroom melodrama' on me—take a deep breath and relax," she replied playfully before turning back to Braden. "So Aubrey does most of the talking, huh? Why didn't you just say so?" she asked with a laugh that drew a brief, answering smile from Braden. "Now, you and Aubrey are twins, right?" she said to Braden, obviously unconcerned.

"Yep," Braden replied, not offering any further information, not in the least bothered by Sam's obvious annoyance with his brief responses.

Jess conceded defeat good-naturedly shortly thereafter, much to Sam's relief, and as Braden pushed away from the table and began to draw once more in the legal pad in his lap, Jess stood, carrying her plate to the sink.

"I've got some studying to do—I call dibs on the living room. Oh, and the dishes are all yours," she said with a grin, kissing Sam and telling Braden a quick goodbye before she hurried out.

_Damn. _

He and Braden watched her go, the two of them unmoving until the apartment door finally shut behind her.

And that quickly, Braden turned his gaze on Sam, a grave expression on his face.

"What?" Sam asked, inwardly wincing at the defensiveness in his tone. _Dude, I'm the older brother here—why am I getting defensive here? Braden's the one who's got some serious explaining to do._

"Where are the salt lines?" Braden demanded, his eyes narrow as he stared back at Sam with borderline hostility.

"I didn't lay any," Sam told him, meeting his younger brother's stare head-on, deciding not to sit back and take his little brother's pseudo-accusations laying down.

"What?!"

"Normal people don't pour salt in front of their doors and windows, Braden," Sam said matter-of-factly. "Jess would think I'd lost my damn mind."

"Maybe. But at least she'd be alive to do it," Braden countered. "You're shacking up with this chick, but you won't even do the simplest thing to make sure something can't get her—you know what? You _have_ lost your damn mind. You're supposed to be the smart one."

"Braden—"

"How can you just turn your back on what's out there? You're lying to yourself if you think it'll all just disappear because you walked away."

"No, I don't think I am," Sam retorted. "I've been here for two years, Braden, and do you know how many unexplainable things have happened to me in that time? Zero. It's perfectly safe here."

"It's not safe _anywhere_," Braden told him, his voice deceptively soft.

"Look, you don't understand—the reason all of you find evil everywhere you go is because Dad goes looking for it!" Sam threw out, fighting to keep from raising his voice too much. "Hell, Braden, let's be honest here—Dad doesn't just go looking for it, he follows it!" He paused, bringing himself back under control before looking Braden in the eyes with a firm stare. "I left all that behind, and since then, I haven't seen so much as a spirit, and the only flickering lights are because of a dying light-bulb."

"Yeah, well, that's great, Sam. I'm happy for you, really," Braden told him sardonically. "But some of us didn't leave, and we still have to deal with evil shit. So you need to put out the damn salt lines because I don't wanna get my ass killed by something that could have easily been stopped by a simple line of salt the doors and windows."

"Bray, look, I've told you, there's nothing supernatural out to get us here. What are you so afraid of?"

"That's not important," Braden said evasively, his eyes shifting away. And that quickly, he tripped Sam's bullshit-detector.

"You need to come clean with me. What's going on?"

"Something is going to happen, that's what's going on,"

"I think you owe me something a little more specific than that."

"I don't owe you anything," Braden said belligerently, the less-than-forthcoming response enough to piss Sam off.

"Uh, _yeah_, you do. You show up on my doorstep, sick and completely confused as to how you got there, and then think you don't owe me an explanation? That's bullshit, Braden."

"Listen, all you need to know is that you can't stay here. It's not safe. Maybe it was before, but it's not now. Don't you get it, Sam? The signs all point here."

"What 'signs,' Braden?"

"I don't know."

"Do you realize you're not making a damn bit of sense? Quit bullshitting me and give me a straight answer."

"I'm telling you the truth—I don't know any more than that!" But from the look in his eyes, Sam had a definite feeling that Braden _did_ know more than that.

"Look, until you can give me some definitive answers, I don't want to hear it. I'm not going to start laying down salt lines and drawing sigils all over the place—I'm not going to do anything to bring Jess into this. I won't."

"Dammit, Sam," Braden began, actually starting to raise his voice as his frustration level grew.

"Keep your voice down," Sam bit out, his jaw clenched as he glanced furtively towards the swinging door that was all that separated the kitchen from the living room. Just then, Jess pushed it open, pausing in the doorway when they fell silent.

"Um…am I interrupting something?"

"Nah, we were just catching up," Sam told her, the smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes as he cast a glance at Braden, warning him with his eyes not to disagree. With a sigh, Braden stood, shoving his chair back and heading for the door. "Where are you going?" Sam demanded to know.

"'m tired. Thought I'd take a nap. If that's alright with you?" Braden retorted tersely.

Sam nodded, acutely aware of Jess's eyes on him as Braden brushed past her to go into the living room.

"Is everything okay?" she asked him worriedly as the door swung shut behind Braden.

_No._

"I don't know," he said instead. "Something's up with him, but he's not really being forthcoming with answers."

"You tried to talk to him about it?"

"Yeah—"

"No, not _interrogate_, Sam—_talk_. Did you try to _talk_ to him?"

"_Yes_. Bray's just always been closemouthed about stuff. He plays things close to his chest, and Aubrey's the only one he really talks to about stuff."

"Or maybe he's still tired or not feeling well," she told him, settling onto his lap with a gentle smile.

"Yeah, maybe so," he mumbled as she leaned in and kissed him, her arms curling around his neck. He reciprocated, his hands coming up to weave through her hair as he held her head still. The tension in him melted away at the feel of her, and he deepened the kiss, reveling in the sound of her soft moan as he slid his hand under the hem of her shirt.

"Sam," she murmured a second later, pulling back breathlessly, an apologetic smile on her face. "We can't. Your little brother is in the next room."

_Damn._

"Yeah," he said reluctantly, slowly relinquishing his hold to allow her to climb to her feet.

_Too bad. I could've used a distraction,_ he thought, casting a worried look at the door Braden had disappeared through.

"I'm sure your brother's fine," she reassured him, her voice soft as she straightened her clothes.

"Oh, yeah, of course," he said, putting on a smile for her as she grabbed her left-over soda and headed back into the living room.

But deep down, he was starting to wonder.

* * *

A few hours later, he was sitting at the kitchen table, his face buried in one of his textbooks as he took notes on a particularly long chapter. He was pretty immersed in it when he heard Jess call his name, something in her voice enough to send him hurrying into the living room.

"What's wrong?" he asked, bursting in only to freeze in the doorway.

_Ah, damn it._

"He won't stop," Jess murmured uneasily, her voice tight as she watched Braden sketch another in a long row of sigils onto the wall beside the door frame, the lettering almost completely bordering the door. "What is he doing?"

"I'll take care of it," Sam said quickly, already moving toward her and taking her arm in a gentle hold, urging her out of the room. Unfortunately, Jess wasn't having any of it, jerking her arm away from him.

"I don't _want_ you to take care of it, Sam. What I _want_ is for you to tell me what he's doing."

"Jess, look, I know it's a bit creepy, but it's just something he does sometimes when he's sleepwalking."

"Sleepwalking?" she asked, obviously not too convinced.

"Yeah. I told you last night that he does that sometimes."

"Funny, I recall that conversation, and I'm positive you didn't say anything about him drawing creepy as hell symbols on the wall, Sam."

"Well, because I was hoping he wouldn't. I'd sort of thought he'd grown out of it."

"And you're sure he's asleep?"

"Oh yeah," Sam told her confidently, because even after two years, he still recognized the signs: the distant expression, the heavy-lidded eyes, the slow movements.

"Well make him stop—wake him up or something."

"Waking him up isn't really the best way to go—it disorients the hell out of him, and then he's harder to handle than usual."

"Well just do something," she said exasperatedly, throwing her arms up with an incredulous expression.

"Okay, okay, just relax." Turning away, he stepped toward his brother, eyeing the sigils with a discerning eye.

_Damn, either he's a lot faster than he used to be or he's a lot quieter._ Jess had remained oblivious while Braden had worked his way around the door-frame, and Braden was now extended to full height, steadily sketching out the row of symbols he'd begun over the lintel.

"Braden, it's time to stop now," Sam said softly, stepping up beside his younger brother slowly.

"Soon. Not finished."

"I know, dude, but you're sorting of ruining the look we were going for in here. And you're upsetting Jess."

He reached for the pencil in Braden's hand, relieved that at least Braden hadn't managed to lay his hands on a Sharpie. The relief disappeared, though, when Braden jerked away, turning to face Sam with a fierce stare that was startling in its intensity.

"I'm _not_ finished."

"Braden—"

"Not until I'm finished!"

Reluctantly, Sam backed off even as Jess looked at him disbelievingly, gesturing towards Braden and the door as though to say, "_Are you just going to stand there and let him draw on the wall?_"

_Yeah, Jess, looks that way._

"Sam—d" she began, but he shook his head, cutting her off.

"Look, he's almost finished. Just let him finish and I'll wipe it off, okay?"

"Sam, is there something…wrong…with Braden?"

"No, not like you mean."

_I wish it was that simple. But no, whatever's up with Braden is a lot more complicated than any kind of emotional or mental disorder. _They'd just never quite figure it out, and after a year and a half of searching right after the twins had come to be with them, their dad had finally decided to accept it and let it go, certainly a first in the Winchester family. _Or 'an only,' I should say._ Because Sam sure as hell couldn't recall it ever happening any other time.

"Well, is there something about him I should know, something you didn't tell me about?"

_Of course there's something I didn't tell you about. There's a lot of somethings I didn't tell you about._

"Not really. He just has sleep issues. He's been doing the whole 'sleepwalking thing' since I've known him."

"This…this is just bizarre, Sam," Jess said softly.

"I know," he mumbled, watching as Braden drew one last sigil before slowly stepping back and turning to face Sam, his face still blank as he blinked up at Sam. Without a word, he reached out and handed Sam the pencil before dropping back against the wall, sliding down it until he was sitting on the floor beside the door, silently keeping vigil over his handiwork, as though daring Sam to try and erase it.

"Shit," Sam whispered.

"What's the matter?"

"He's not gonna just let me clean it off. That's why he's watching me."

"Sam, there's no way that can stay there—I mean, look at it! It's creepy!"

"Look, Dean'll be here tonight—he'll take care of Bray, and I'll clean this off the wall, okay? Dean will get here, and he'll fix everything. Trust me."

With one last worried glance at the door-frame, Jess reluctantly stepped away.

"I'm going to go study in the bedroom. Um…watch him, okay?"

He nodded, unable to speak past the sudden lump in his throat as he watched her walk away, unable to help but think that he was watching his normal life start to crumble right before his eyes.

_Please, Dean. Please be able to fix everything._

* * *

A/N: Okay, so I decided to go ahead and stop here, which means shifting the point-of-view in the next chapter. I wasn't too sure about it, to tell you the truth, because I originally intended for more of what's to come to be from Sam's point-of-view. But I think it's still going to work. Otherwise, I guess ya'll will be getting another Sam chapter right after this one. Oh well. Anyways, thanks so much for the reviews!! Next chapter will probably be Aubrey's (I think).

**jade1056:** Thanks for the compliments, Jade. I'm glad you like the long chapters—that's why it takes me so long to update, though. And I gotta be honest, I miss the younger twins, too—the twins as teens are sometimes really hard to write. It's been awhile since I was fourteen, and I don't happen to know any fourteen-year-olds. Anyways, hopefully you enjoyed the chapter. Let me know what you think, okay?!

**DrifterFanatic92:** Sorry I kept you waiting so long for more! Hope you liked it! Thanks for the review!

**Jenmm31:** I couldn't quite tell for sure from your review—do you normally like short chapters better? Me, I like long chapters, because right about the time I'm getting into a short chapter, it ends. But you got your wish—Sam's back. Did you like??

**zuimar:** Yep, you guessed it at the end of the last chapter—Sam is back! How'd you like how he came back into the story? Did I do alright? With Sam back in the picture, things will get a bit better for Dean…until they suddenly get worse again, of course. After all, that's what keeps us coming back for more, right? All that Dean angst is just too good to resist. Anyways, thanks for the review!

**PRACK:** I like caffeinated Dean, too—he's amusing, isn't he? Actually, you're right—he's pretty much hot any way you look at him. Except in lederhosen. Then, not so hot. I was sort of hoping John would redeem himself with his whole 'apologizing to Dean' scene in the last chapter, but judging from your reaction, I'm thinking maybe I didn't do so well with that part. Sad. I like John. Anyways, let me know what you thought of the Sam chapter, okay?!

**StoryTagger:** Don't know if you've made it this far with the story—your last review was for Chapter 18…thanks for the review. I might have to use that "mini Hell-beast" expression of yours for the hamster—if you don't mind? As for Braden, you've got some awesomely good guesses there. But you're right—you'll have to find out later. LOL! Anyways, thanks for reviewing!

**iVans: **Aww, you made me smile! Thanks for all of the lovely compliments you wrote (which you've probably forgotten at this point, seeing as how it's been so long since I posted a new chapter). It was totally cool to find out that you've read the story multiple times (hope there's no glaring mistakes anywhere—lol!). I always like getting reviews from people who don't usually go for the extra sibling fics but gave mine a shot anyway. As for checking for updates obsessively…I do that quite a bit myself. Sorry I kept you waiting for so long! Thanks so much for the review! I'd love to hear what you think about Sam's return!

**rholou: **Yeah, I keep Dean on edge, don't I? I can't seem to help myself. I'm glad you enjoyed Dean being high on caffeine (or is it drunk?). So glad the twins are coming across okay—it's hard to write as a fourteen-year-old, and carrying across the traits they had at age eight without being cheesy about it is tricky. Anyways, thanks for reviewing!

**eggylaine: **So did you think about the story and find the update waiting again? If so, maybe we have some weird, totally subconscious psychic link. LOL! So Sam's back—you'll get the 'reunion with the family' stuff in the next chapter. As for the caffeine thing, yeah, I kinda get wound up after consuming caffeine—one red Vault does it for me. If I drink an entire bottle of it in one sitting, I actually do feel kind of nauseous, and I'm definitely jittery. LOL! Anyways, thanks for reviewing!

**Hero Lilly:** Thanks for the compliment—hope you enjoyed the new chapter!

**alwaysjensen:** You know, the whole John-Dean dynamic is proving complicated. I love John, but he definitely struggles with his children. I was hoping his apology to Dean would sort of make up for what happened earlier, but the response to it seems mixed. Some people think he's an absolute jerk, which saddens me, since I like him. I want him to be seen as sort of the "screws up with his kids but has the best of intentions" type of father. I dunno. Oh well. Anyways, let me know what you thought about the Sammy chapter, okay?!

**bit952: **Say, bit, how did you come up with your penname anyway? I'm curious. Hope you don't mind. Anyways, it was so exciting to read that this is your favorite SN fic so far—I hope I can maintain it! Hope you liked the new chapter! Thanks for the review!

**Sammyluvr83:** So glad you loved it! Thanks for the review!

**Bunty: **Yes, Dean's pretty restless on a good day, so I definitely figured that caffeinated Dean would be pretty entertaining. That's something I carried over from the earlier "Teen-chester" chapters, and I'd been looking for a way to really get some use out of it. Thank you so much for letting me know that you enjoyed the John and Dean interaction—I love John, but sometimes I'm not sure that I accurately get across the love he has for his children, despite his screw-ups. I like to think that he has the best of intentions but manages to screw up anyway. I'm hoping that's what you meant in your review…if not…lie to me. LOL! Just kidding! Anyways, thanks so much for the review!


	29. Degrees of Truth

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks for reading over it for me, mimishell—as always! Maybe you'll actually read this one—LOL!

Chapter 29: Degrees of Truth

_He looks like shit warmed over,_ was all Sam could think when he opened the door to his older brother and his sister.

"Hey," Dean murmured, offering a pale version of his usual smirk as he stood awkwardly in the doorway, Aubrey partially hidden behind him, and though Dean's usual smart-ass expression was missing, Sam felt all of his nervous energy melt away at the sight of his older brother.

"Hey, Dean—it's been awhile," Sam told him with a soft smile, and as though that was all he needed to hear, Dean stepped forward and pulled Sam into a bear-hug, slapping him on the back heartily before stepping back with a grin.

"It's damn good to see you, Sammy," Dean told him.

"You, too, Dean," Sam said, feeling as though everything was right in the world again, for the first time in two years. Sensing that Dean felt embarrassed by the sentiment, Sam knew well enough that he was going to have to break the developing chick-flick moment or risk Dean shutting him down. "Dude, I've gotta say, you look like shit, man. You okay?"

"Just tired, Sammy, just tired."

Frowning worriedly, Sam stepped back from the door, gesturing them inside as he turned his attention to Aubrey.

"Hey, Aub," he said, reaching out to ruffle her hair, but she stepped away, staring up at him with a wounded expression before darting around him, heading straight away for Braden.

_Oh._

Watching his little sister turn away from him hurt more than Sam had ever thought it would. He watched silently as Aubrey dropped to her knees beside Braden, silently guarding her brother, who'd fallen asleep stretched out on the floor in front of his artwork, steadfast in his refusal to let Sam anywhere near the glyphs and sigils that framed the doorway.

"Just give her some time, Sammy. She'll come around," Dean told him softly, squeezing his shoulder briefly before glancing over at Aubrey.

"What if she doesn't?"

_I just wanted to do something with my life, something besides hunt. I didn't want _this_. I didn't want to ruin things with my family._

"Dude, this is Aubrey we're talking about, not Dad. She's just…hurt. She didn't exactly handle it well when you left and never called. I mean, yeah, she adjusted, seemed okay, but…seeing you again...like this…I think it just kinda hit her suddenly."

"I didn't _want_ to hurt her, Dean," Sam began, but Dean shook his head.

"Intent doesn't change the facts, Sammy."

"I thought maybe you were mad," Sam mumbled, feeling very much like the guilt-ridden little boy who'd had to confess to numerous childhood infractions, not to his father but to his older brother. "That's why I didn't call," he finished, glancing down at the floor sheepishly.

"Maybe I was at first. But you know I've never been able to stay mad at you, Sammy—you're my pain-in-the-ass little brother," Dean said simply, a half-smile on his face before he turned away to look past Sam. "That shit's still pretty damn impressive, isn't it?" he commented, eyeing the doorway with an admiring gaze before turning to Sam with a smirk. "How the hell did he manage to do all that? You're gettin' sloppy, little brother."

"He was napping," Sam said defensively, "and Jess was in here studying—I thought she'd hear him if he got up…he's gotten quieter about it, I guess."

"Told you to keep your eyes on him," Dean said with a smirk.

"Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean retorted, a relaxed grin taking the place of the smirk. Sam returned the smile, enjoying the simple moment for what it was—a return to a simpler time, before things with his family got so complicated.

_I can almost pretend nothing's changed._

But when Dean's gaze sharpened on something behind Sam, he turned, suddenly reminded that things _had_ changed. He held out his hand and Jess stepped forward from the kitchen doorway, placing her hand in his. He gently tugged her forward, bringing her to stand up beside him.

"Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica. Jess, this is my brother Dean. And that's my sister Aubrey on the floor down there."

"Hi, it's nice to meet you," Jess told him with smile, holding her hand out for Dean to shake, which the older Winchester took with a charming smile.

"Yeah, I've seen you around," Dean said casually, and '_oh shit, Dean, don't tell her that'_ was all Sam could think, even as Dean continued. "It's nice to finally meet you in person," he continued flawlessly, flashing that patented Winchester smile at her despite the frown that was starting to appear on Jess's face.

"Wait, how could you have seen me around? Sam said—"

"It's complicated," Dean said abruptly, cutting her off, and though the smile on his face remained, Sam could tell it no longer reached his eyes.

_Subject closed._

"So yeah, I guess we'd better get going," Dean said, the smile slowly melting off his face as he turned to face Sam.

"_Don't go," _Sam wanted to say. _"I want my family back." _But he didn't know how to say it.

"But you just got here," Jess interjected, casting a friendly smile at his older brother. "You should stay! Besides, it's getting late—it's going to be hard to find another place to stay."

_C'mon, Dean, go for it. Say you'll stay._

"Sammy, Dad's a couple of hours behind us, but he's gonna want to meet up with us as soon as he hits town. And I don't think I'm wrong when I say you probably want us gone before then."

"I'd like you to stay," Sam murmured, his issues with his dad seeming less important now than they had two years ago.

_I'd rather have an awkward reunion with Dad than have you and the twins walk out the door right now. I want my family back._

It was as though having them with him suddenly made their absence over the last two years become painfully apparent, and Sam didn't want them to leave anymore.

"So, you'll stay then?" Jess asked, her eyes going back and forth between them for a moment before settling on Dean expectantly.

"Uh, you sure you've got room for all of us?" Dean asked, eyeing Sam as he tried undoubtedly to give Sam one last chance to back out. Sam gave Dean a slight nod, even as Jess mistook the question for one aimed at her and answered.

"Sam's smart—I'm sure he'll figure something out—that's why I keep him around, you know," Jess replied playfully, smiling a smile that Sam was well familiar with as her I-know-I've-won smile.

"Ha-ha," Sam told her dryly, pretending to be offended, but really, he'd already figured out a solution. "We have a couple of air mattresses, and the couch is a fold-out."

_Okay, so it's not the most comfortable couch…but we've slept on worse in the past._

"You sure you're okay with this?" Dean asked as Jess went to look for the air mattresses, and Sam could see in his eyes that what he really meant was, _'You sure you're okay with Dad coming here?'_

"Yeah, I'm sure."

_I'll play nice if Dad does._

"Alright, if you're sure," Dean said with a careless shrug, dropping onto the couch with a tired sigh as Sam watched. "So, why are you still standing there? Go grab our shit from the car, Jeeves—I don't pay you to stare at me like a dumbass."

"You don't pay me at all," Sam retorted, enjoying the chance to banter with his brother.

"Yeah, you're right—I totally don't. But since you're standing anyway, you can still go get our shit from the car. 'Cause there's no way in hell I'm hauling it up three flights of stairs. You should have gotten an apartment on the first floor, Sammy. I thought you were smarter than that."

"Yeah, well, you try finding a cheap place on the ground-level and then we'll talk," Sam told him with a laugh. "Throw me the keys, asshole."

With a grin, Dean dug the keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Sam, who caught them easily in one hand before heading for the door with a good-natured smile.

"Just grab the overnight bags, Sammy—don't worry about the large duffels," Dean called after him, and Sam nodded, relieved that he at least wasn't going to have to carry the huge-ass duffels up three flights of stairs. John Winchester had trained them long ago to have a small set of bags for those one-night motel stays.

"_Saves time,"_ he'd always said. _"It's strategically stupid to offload every damn thing we own in the middle of the night just to haul it back to the car the next day. Besides, you never know when we're gonna have to get outta town fast." _Sam could still hear his father's voice lecturing him and Dean when they were younger, his deep voice seeming to echo in Sam's ear._ "Pack one smaller bag for overnight, boys—and don't fill it with a bunch of shit, either. Change of clothes, sleep gear, and a toothbrush is all you need."_

_Guess Dad's obsessive-compulsive need to micromanage everything comes in handy on occasion._

As he started out the door, he could hear Jess asking Dean if he was hungry, and all Sam could do was laugh at his brother's eager reply.

_Some things _never_ change._

As he came off the last stair and stepped outside, a bittersweet feeling went through him at the familiar sight of the Impala, gleaming in the light from the streetlamp nearby. Flashes of lightning in the distance were enough to tell him not to dawdle, the storm system that had been sporadically popping up obviously once again moving through the area. Hoping he wasn't going to get caught in a flood of rain while he was outside, he inserted the key into the trunk, lifting it up to reveal an accumulation of the duffels, pillows, shovels, car stuff, and junk his siblings managed to amass.

_Slobs. They're all slobs_, he thought, eyeing the mess with a grimace. _And as completely anal as Dad is, you'd think he'd have Dean trained to keep things at least semi-organized. _Sighing, he started shifting through the pile, quickly finding Aubrey's small pink camouflage bag as well as Braden's dark orange camouflage bag, the only things in the trunk that weren't matte black, army green, or gunmetal gray. As he slung them over his shoulder and dug around for Dean's bag, which wasn't nearly as conspicuous as the others', he suddenly sensed a presence behind him.

_Shit!_

Dropping the bags, he whirled around, only to see Aubrey standing close to him, staring up at him solemnly.

"Dammit, Aubrey, you scared the hell out of me," he griped, leaning down to pick up the bags as he turned back to continue the search for Dean's one-night duffel. She didn't comment as she stepped up beside him soundlessly, propping her hip on the Impala's back bumper as she watched him dig through the contents of the trunk.

_Come on, Aubrey—don't be like this. Help me out here._

"You _could_ help, you know," he muttered, hoping she'd play along, act as though things between them had never changed.

_Even though they have. _

Sam wasn't often one to just sweep things under the rug rather than talk about them, but in this case, he was willing to pretend nothing had happened. But again, she didn't comment, and as he glanced at her, he couldn't help but worry that she was taking a page out of Dean's book and adopting a policy of selective mutism.

"He's tired," she said softly, and Sam frowned.

"What?"

"Dean. He's tired."

"Yeah, he looked it. Driving from Seattle—"

"No. He's been tired for a long time—longer than just last night."

"Oh."

"It's because you weren't there anymore. You weren't there to help," she told him bluntly, and Sam winced. "You left him to do everything on his own, and he's always sad. Or angry."

_She's not pulling any punches, is she? _

"Aubrey—look, I'm sorry, but…I've gotta live my own life. I'm not a kid anymore," he told her softly. "I want a life outside of hunting. And I know it probably hasn't been easy for you guys, but you're still a family. You still have each other, and you've still got Dad."

_Wish I could say the same._

"You're kidding, right?" she asked him sharply. "I mean, _seriously_. C'mon, you know as well as I do that Daddy leaves _all the time_. D's been tryin' really hard to take care of everything like he always does, but things are different now," she told him, shaking her head as the anger melted away to be replaced by a quiet helplessness. "Bray's up all the time now, and Dean can't do it all anymore, and it's not fair, Sam," she told him, her voice breaking even as she struggled not to cry in front of him. "What about Dean? Doesn't he get a life, too?"

And Sam reluctantly had to admit that it had simply never occurred to him that his older brother might want something more for himself than hunting. To be honest, Sam was feeling downright guilty for never considering the one person who mattered more to him than pretty much anybody.

_But too bad things aren't any easier now than they were two years ago_, he thought ruefully.

"Aub, you know I'd do anything for Dean, but coming back isn't something I can do right now. Even if I _wanted _to leave all this behind tomorrow, I can't. You know Dad—he meant it when he told me not to come back."

"No, he didn't. Ya'll were just fighting again like always, and you and Daddy both say stuff you don't mean when you fight. It's stupid, Sam. All of it."

"Look," he told her with a sigh, unwilling to acknowledge that maybe she was right and the grudge he'd been carrying had all been meaningless, "it's water under the bridge now. I'm sorry things are rough, and I'll help however I can. But I don't want to talk about this anymore, okay?"

"Fine," she replied curtly, jerking the key out of the trunk and moving around to the passenger side door without looking at him. Reaching into the backseat, she emerged a second later with a familiar hamster cage, and Sam tried for a smile, hoping he could coax Aubrey into something resembling a friendly conversation.

"How's Bones?"

"Bones died four months ago. This is Lucy," she said bluntly, obviously not going for it, so with a sigh, Sam went back to digging through the trunk. The wind picked up, whipping Sam's hair into his face as he shoved more of Dean's junk aside to reach for the small, nondescript bag that Dean used as his 'one-nighter.' Aubrey was waiting for him by the door to the building, but Sam didn't kid himself that it meant anything more than Aubrey not wanting to be alone.

When he finally shoved the trunk closed and moved towards the building, she stayed only a few steps ahead of him, preceding him into the apartment building without a word. They made it inside just in the nick of time, as thunder rumbled ominously behind them, and lightning streaked across the sky. Ahead of him, he could see Aubrey shiver, but much to his surprise, she didn't hang back to walk beside him. Instead, she sped up a bit, never out of earshot, but far enough ahead that Sam knew she didn't want any comfort from _him_.

_You used to, though. You used to come to me first when you were scared._

The fact that she'd rather seek comfort elsewhere was a bitter pill to swallow, and with a sigh, Sam followed her up the remaining stairs. By the time he dropped the pillows and bags on the sofa, Braden was sitting up cross-legged in the floor across from Aubrey, and Sam could tell from the heavy silence and the beseeching look that Braden was casting in Dean's direction that he was interrupting what had been the start of some heavy family drama.

"What's going on?" Sam asked slowly, his eyes darting back and forth between Dean and Braden, instinctively knowing that Aubrey was only an observer this time around.

"Nothing," Braden said hastily, glancing at Dean with a pleading look before he turned to face Sam once again.

"Braden, if you want me to leave so you can talk to Dean alone, just say so—don't play the bullshit game with me," Sam told him, not sure whether to be angry or just hurt. He'd never taken well to being left in the dark, but he also knew that Braden wasn't the sort who would open up if he didn't want to.

_He gets that from Dad, that stubborn-as-hell, pain in the ass silence. Dammit._

"Okay," Braden said with a careless shrug. "I want you to leave so I can talk to Dean," he finished bluntly.

"Dammit, Braden," Sam said exasperatedly, dragging his hand through his hair. "Hasn't this family had enough with the secrets already?!"

"Hey, I gave you a chance to listen to me—_you_ didn't want to hear it. So don't bitch at me now 'cause you suddenly wanna be back in the loop," Braden retorted, giving Sam a cold look that was unmistakable.

"You weren't even making any sense, Braden! You just kept saying we couldn't stay here. Cryptic much? I mean, what the hell!?"

"You know what, Sam? Fuck you. Seriously. I'm not talking about this with you anymore."

"Bray," Aubrey murmured, casting an indiscernible look at Sam before looking back at Braden. "Maybe you _should_ tell him everything—Sam's good with the hard-to-find stuff. Maybe he could—"

"No."

"Sammy."

Sam looked over at the couch to see Dean nodding towards the kitchen door.

_Is he serious? Is he actually asking me to leave?_

"Dean—"

"Sammy, you know as well as I do that Braden's not gonna talk with you in here, and I need to know what the hell's going on. So do me a favor—quit bitching, and go into the kitchen with your girlfriend."

_Fine. I'll do that. I'll just have to eavesdrop at the door._

Without another word, Sam pushed the door to the kitchen open, letting it swing shut behind him, content in the knowledge that he'd be able to hear quite easily so long as they didn't talk in low whispers.

"Oh, hey, is everything okay?" Jess asked, casting a look at Sam over her shoulder from where she stood at the stove.

"Just the usual family drama that never seems to end," Sam muttered, frowning as he watched her stir something in a pot on the stovetop. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm just warming up some of the leftover soup for Dean. I asked him if he was hungry, and he said he could eat, so…"

"Jess, if you learn nothing else about Dean for the rest of our lives, you should know that Dean is _always_ hungry. Unless he's sick or hurt, he'll always say he can eat."

"Gotcha," she said with a grin. Now that the door had stopped swinging, Sam turned his back on Jess and stepped up to the door soundlessly. "Sam, what are you doing?"

"Eavesdropping."

"Sam," she started, her voice admonishing, but Sam cut her off, trying to hear over the shifting in the other room.

"Shh," he whispered, his brow creasing as he caught the low murmur of Dean's voice, vaguely aware of her coming up behind him.

"_Alright, he's in the other room—we can hear him talking to Jess," _Dean said bluntly_. "So cut the bullshit and start talking, Braden. You might want to start with why the hell we're here."_

"_I was doing it again, D—I fell asleep in Seattle and woke up here. I don't know what's going on, but all I know is that I needed to come here,"_ Braden told him earnestly, but Sam had to wonder if Braden was really telling the whole story. He couldn't put his finger on it, but some gut feeling told him that Braden was holding something back.

"_Why? Why do you think you needed to come here?" _Dean was asking, his voice demanding as he squared off with Braden.

"_I just did."_

"_Dude, you're the one that just told Sam you wanted to talk to me. You didn't tell him to take a hike just to feed me a load of bullshit. And to be honest with you, I'm pretty damn sick of it. Now you need to level with me here."_

"_D—" _Braden began, and Sam knew from the tone of his little brother's voice that since an outright lie wasn't going to work, he was about to do his damnedest to simply evade the issue. And obviously, Dean picked up on it as well, because he cut Braden off before he could even get started.

"_No. No more evasions, no more excuses, no more pretending everything's all fucking sunshine and daisies. You tell me the truth now."_

"_I…well…when I sleepwalk sometimes…well, it…I can remember some things."_

_Still avoiding the issue. He's gonna give you half-truths, Dean,_ Sam thought, the stilted way in which Braden was answering enough to clue Sam in to his younger brother's less than complete truth. _He's distracting you—giving you just enough to hopefully steer you away from further questions. _

"_What kind of things?"_

_There you go, Dean—keep pushing him for more. He might slip and reveal something…_

"_Um…not much. Impressions, mostly. Like, right before I came here, I uh…I remember feeling this…um…drive…to look for signs."_

"_Signs? Dude, what the—"_

"_Look, the how isn't important right now."_

_The hell it's not, _Sam thought, his eyes narrowing as he focused in on that bit of information. _Something tells me the _how_ is exactly what's important right now—what are you hiding, Braden? _

"_The signs, Dean" _Braden continued, "_the signs are all here—something's coming! I tried to tell Sam, but he wouldn't listen!"_

"_Okay, back up a minute. What signs are you talking about?"_

"_The power outages, the freak storms coming out of nowhere, the ground drying up—and if there were cattle around here, they'd be dropping dead by now. I'm _tellin'_ you, something's coming."_

_Finally, a completely honest answer. Still, there's more to this than just that._

"_Do you know what it is?" _Dean asked, and Sam could almost hear the sound of his older brother's brain trying to map out the problem and a solution.

_Could be demonic,_ Sam thought, considering the list of phenomena that Braden had described. _But then again, it could just be coincidence. Droughts and storms happen, and storms can cause power outages—that kind of shit happens all the time. No cattle deaths. Nevermind that it's been perfectly safe here for years. Factor in that there's nothing here to attract the demonic and you're left with the only possible answer: sheer coincidence. Braden's just freaking out over nothing._

"_No," _Braden admitted, pulling Sam's attention back to the conversation_. "But I know we shouldn't stay here. None of us. It's not safe here. Please, Dean, you gotta talk to Sam. He won't listen to me, but he'll listen to _you_." _

Listening for Dean's answer, Sam jerked when Jess put her hand on his shoulder and turned him to face her.

"Okay, Sam!" she hissed, her expression making it more than clear that though she disapproved of his eavesdropping. "It's wrong to eavesdrop, but now that you did it—and I totally joined you—I'm really wishing I hadn't, because whatever the hell they're talking about—it's seriously freaking me out. You need to start talking. Now."

_Shit._

"Look, I really don't know much more than you do."

_And that's not really a lie …It all depends on the intent behind the question, and since you weren't really asking me about the shit that I know but instead asking me about the immediate situation, it really doesn't qualify as a lie, just an omission of certain facts that I _do_ know. _

Unfortunately, Sam's logic didn't seem to occur to Jess, because she clearly wasn't buying it.

_Dammit, Jess. _

"Nice try, Sam. But since when do you think I'm an idiot?"

"Okay, something _is_ going on, but you heard as much as I did. Braden's at the root of it, and he's not talking to me."

"Well, clearly," she retorted. "But what do you _think_ is wrong?" she asked, glaring back at him stubbornly, even as she cast a worried glance back at the door.

"I don't know. He's scared about something. He's not being all that forthcoming with specific details—I can't make sense out of any of it."

_Nothing you would find acceptable or believable anyway._

"Sam, none of this is making any sense."

"I know," he murmured, casting an apologetic look at her before he turned his attention back to the door, hoping he hadn't missed Dean's reply, but after a few seconds, Dean heaved a heavy sigh.

"_Dean?" _Aubrey prompted, speaking up for the first time since Sam had left the room. _"What do we do?"_

"_Let's just hang tight until Dad gets here. If he says we go, I'll talk to Sam."_

"_Well, when's that gonna be?" _Braden asked, impatience coloring his voice. _"Look, can't we just go ahead and try to convince Sam to come with us for a few days? If he'll come, then Jessica will, too."_

"_No. We'll wait for Dad."_

"_Dean—"_

"_We're done, Braden," _Dean said, putting an end to Braden's protests in no uncertain terms.

Sam wanted nothing more than to barge back into the den and let his brothers know in no uncertain terms that he wasn't going _anywhere_. But he didn't, because it wouldn't change anything. With an annoyed shake of his head, he stepped back from the door, almost knocking into Jess, who stood at his back with a pissed off expression that Sam knew from past experience didn't bode well for him.

She was just about to speak when the door swung open from the other side and Dean walked in with a cocky smirk.

"'s the food ready?"

"Just about," Jess told him, throwing a hasty smile in Dean's direction, even as her eyes promised a forthcoming interrogation.

_Or maybe just a big argument,_ he thought, knowing well enough from that look that Jess had reached her quota for piss-poor excuses and evasions. No doubt she'd managed to hear just enough to be confused as hell, and she was going to want answers, Sam knew, answers that he wasn't sure he was capable of giving.

"Finish this, Sam—I'm going to look for sheets for the couch," she told him tersely, passing him the spoon and brushing past him on her way out.

"Trouble in paradise, little brother?" Dean asked when the door swung shut behind her.

"Nothing I can't handle," Sam replied, wishing he felt half as confident as he sounded.

"You sure? 'cause judging by the looks she was giving you, I'd say it was a pretty sure bet that your ass is toast, dude. If we weren't here, you'd be sleeping on the couch."

_If you weren't here, it never would have come up. _

But he didn't say that. Instead, he put his back to Dean and occupied himself with stirring the soup. Lifting a spoonful, he carefully tested the temperature, deciding to give it just a few more minutes.

"So where do you keep the salt?" Dean asked, and Sam was about to point towards the table where the saltshaker lay when Dean continued. "We need to lay lines tonight."

_Oh hell no. That's all I need—Jess asking more questions that I don't have answers for._

"Dean, we can't lay lines."

"Why the hell not?" Dean demanded, and even though Sam's back was to his brother, he could almost feel Dean's gaze narrowed on his back.

"Dude, Jess is already starting to ask questions—if we start pouring salt all over the place, she's gonna be _relentless_. Not to mention she'll think we're all certifiably insane."

"So wait. You're tellin' me that you've been living with this chick all this time, and you've never laid a damn salt line? Please tell me you're shittin' me, Sammy," Dean said, his voice dropping as his ire grew.

"Look, it's not a big deal—"

"Not a big deal?! It's fucking dangerous, Sam! You can't do shit like that—you get complacent, and you leave yourself wide open for anything. What the hell's the matter with you?!"

"Keep your voice down," Sam hissed, glancing worriedly back at the door, but Dean shook his head, his eyes heated.

"You're laying lines tonight, or we're gone. You wanna put yourself and your girlfriend at risk, I can't really stop you. But I'll be damned if I'm gonna put the rest of this family in danger because you're too afraid to accept reality."

"Dean, don't do this."

"You gonna lay the lines or not?"

"I'll do it after Jess goes to sleep," Sam mumbled, knowing he'd have to concede on the issue or his brother would do exactly what he'd said: he'd leave.

_I'll just have to sweep it all up before Jess wakes up in the morning._

"Make sure that you do."

With a sigh and a growing headache, Sam let it go and spooned some soup into a bowl for his brother, setting it down in front of the older Winchester.

"So, uh…new hamster, huh?" he asked, well aware that it was a completely lame way to start a conversation but needing something to cut through the awful tension that had come between them.

"Dude, don't remind me. Mini _hell-beast_," Dean muttered, shaking his head angrily before pointing a finger at Sam. "I know I said it about the last two or three or four—whatever—but seriously, this one really _is _evil. I still can't believe Dad let her get another one of the damn things."

_Speaking of Dad…_

"Hey, listen…d'you call Dad, yet?" Sam asked him after a few moments, watching silently as Dean spooned soup into his mouth.

"Yep. Called him while you were digging shit outta the trunk."

"What did he say?"

"Said he'd be here in a couple of hours. Dude, you better hope Jessica goes to bed soon, 'cause if those salt lines aren't out by the time Dad gets here, you can bet your ass you're gonna hear about it."

"Yeah, I kinda already thought of that."

_Dammit._

And suddenly, the reality of facing his father for the first time since their fight two years ago suddenly hit him. And it scared the shit out of him.

* * *

A/N: The 'mini Hell-beast' phrase came from StoryTagger—she graciously told me I could have it, so thanks to her!

**StoryTagger**: Thanks again for the usage of the aforementioned phrase! Hope you liked how I used it!

**iVans**: As excited as you are to get my chapters, I'm just as excited to get your reviews—they always make me smile. I'm trying to keep Jess's exposure to the 'Winchester Weirdness,' as you called it, slowly. But she's going to get exposed in a big way in the next chapter, so stay tuned! Thanks for the review! Looking forward to hearing what you think of the chapter!

**eggylaine**: So how did I do with the reunion chapter? Sam chapters are proving a bit difficult for me—it's harder for me to get into his head now that he's older, so I've been questioning myself more than usual the last two chapters. I hope the 'reunion with the family' stuff was worth the wait—John's going to show up in the next chapter, so stay tuned, okay? Thanks for the review!

**Sammyluvr83**: So glad you liked it—I'm trying my best to keep Jess in the story. I don't want to have to kill her off! Thanks for the review!

**DrifterFanatic92**: Glad you're still loving the story, despite the long, annoying waits between chapters. Oh, and don't worry—Sam's going to stick around for the foreseeable future! Thanks for the compliment and the review!

**rholou**: Jess is really hard to write, seeing as how she only appears in, like two episodes. Fleshing out a character like that is a real pain—a lot harder than just creating a character of your own. So thanks for the compliment about my version of Jess! And thanks for the review!

**Jenmm31**: Glad I could make your wish come true! Yeah, Sam's going to be sticking around (barring some freak, unforeseen circumstance). Thanks for clearing up the confusion about chapter length—this one is a bit shorter than usual, but I needed to switch POVs before I went any further, so I had to cut it at twelve pages. But it works, I think. Anyways, hope it was worth the wait! Thanks for reviewing!

**Phoenix07**: I know what you mean about not having much time to review—I've been terrible about reviewing lately. Glad you've kept up with the story anyway! Hope you like the chapter!

**Bunty**: THANK YOU SO MUCH, BUNTY! I was _so_ glad to read that you liked Sam's POV and thought I had his 'Stanford voice' down really well—I was actually pretty worried about it, because I've discovered that adult-Sam is much harder to write than fourteen-year-old Sam. This chapter wasn't much easier, either. I'm just hoping I managed to keep it together for this one, because I couldn't make anyone else's POV work for this chapter. Anyways, thanks again!

**PRACK**: So Dean made it back into the chapter—and unless something changes in the next little while, the next chapter is Dean-centric. Oh, and I'm trying really hard not to kill Jess—I like her, too! She'll only die if I absolutely cannot make anything work with her alive. But as of this minute, I have no intention of killing her off. Thanks for the review!

**Boyparts**: Your pen-name is incredibly amusing—heehee! Anyways, I'm glad you found the story and that you're really liking it! I always get really excited when I see that I have a review from someone I haven't heard from before, because it means I'm still picking up fans, even though I'm almost to Chapter 30. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**jade1056**: I'm sorry I make you wait so long for an update—you make me feel all warm inside when you say things like, "this is definitely my favourite story of all time." You really know how to brighten a person's day, you know. Anyways, thanks for the compliments and for taking the time to send a review!

**zuimar**: Yeah, I'm totally stretching the Braden mystery out for all it's worth. I try to keep dropping hints every now and then, but mostly I'm holding out for a little while longer. I can't really give you an estimate as to when it will be revealed, mostly because I don't really know at this point. I've sort of just been letting the story write itself. Anyways, hope you liked the Sam and Dean reunion—I was trying not to get too sappy. Let me know what you think!

**saberivojo**: You signed up for an account on the site just for me? Awww, that's so sweet! I'm so glad to read that you like John, even though he's a bit 'growly' sometimes. Some people don't like him much—my own beta calls him an 'ass' more often than not—LOL! Anyways, thanks so much for the review! I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

**stoic81: **Wow, you read all 28 chapters in one day?! That's awesome, and it makes me smile! I hate to break it to you, but I have sort of long waits between chapters (about 2-3 weeks sometimes). Which is longer than I'd like, but I write long chapters, and it takes awhile to generate that much material. Okay, that and the fact that some chapters are just a bitch to write. LOL! I'm glad you like Aubrey—I'm gonna do a poll sometime on LiveJournal to see how many people like her and how many don't, because I'm curious. Heh. Thanks for the compliment about my handle on Dean's character—he's my favorite character, so his voice and his chapters come a little easier for me than the others do. Sorry you're not liking Jess too much. She's a hard character to write, since she wasn't in the show long enough to get a true read on her. I tried to put myself in her position when I wrote a lot of it—I figured if some strange kid started sleepwalking and drawing freaky shit all over _my_ wall, I'd be a little upset, not to mention freaked out big-time. Maybe you'll come around to liking her later crosses fingers. Anyways, thanks so much for the review!


	30. An Exercise in Futility

A/N: Oh my, ya'll. I didn't realize it had been a month since my last update hangs head in shame! How did I let that happen?! I'm so sorry, everyone! Hopefully, this was worth the wait, though. Thanks, mimishell, for telling me just what was wrong with this chapter so that I could make it better! I got several great scenes out of your advice, and I had some awesome opportunities to enhance Dean's voice—you're the bestest!

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 30—An Exercise in Futility

Dean's narrowed gaze was alert, never shifting away from his target, even as he registered Sam's movement out of the corner of his eye.

_Yeah, I see you, bitch. I _know_ you're watching. _

After a night of worry and a day of driving with little sleep, his already taxed nerves had had just about all they could take, and the current situation wasn't helping the matter. He was exhausted, and the sound of the storm outside wasn't doing his nerves any good. The power had already blinked off a couple of times, always coming back on a few minutes later, but still, it was nerve-wracking, too, Dean decided. On another night, the sounds of a late-night storm might have been relaxing, but tonight, it just seemed to grate on him, making him edgy and unwilling to sleep.

No one else had seemed too eager for bed, either, not with the last remaining Winchester's impending arrival, though Sam was the only one that seemed particularly stressed about it. Sensing it was a family moment, Jess had subtly disappeared into the bedroom to read, leaving them to camp out in the living room with a modicum of privacy. Braden had settled on the floor with his sketchbook, while Aubrey and Dean took the couch and the armchair respectively. And Sam? Sam was wearing out a path on the carpet from pacing, and the fact that he was impeding Dean's view was really starting to piss the older Winchester off.

_Not that it doesn't fit right in with the whole atmosphere right about now,_ Dean thought cynically. Braden and Aubrey had so far seemed pretty content to stay pissy with Sam, so neither one of them was talking much, though Dean suspected that Aubrey would break down soon and let it go. Until then, of course, the atmosphere with all four of them in the room was likely to remain, at best, stilted. And at worst, just a hop, skip, and a jump away from downright hostile.

"Dammit, Sam, would you fuckin' sit down already?!" Dean exploded, his brother's stress level only further serving to stress his already frazzled nerves.

"Dude, what's your problem? I'm not doing anything," Sam retorted, no doubt making his infamous bitch-face, Dean knew. Not that he was going to shift his gaze long enough to check.

"Yeah, you are. You keep watching that door like it's a ticking time bomb, and you keep moving around—I'm busy here, and you're gettin' in my way."

"Busy? What the hell, Dean? You're staring at a damn hamster like it's going to attack you or something—that's not 'busy,' that's neurotic."

"Don't wanna hear it, Sam. I know a hell of a lot better than you what that thing is capable of, because unlike _you_, I've been living with the damn thing."

"Dean, it's a hamster," Sam told him in that 'I'm-a-genius-and-you-should-listen-to-me-because-I'm-right' voice that never failed to piss Dean off. "Its brain is about the size of a pea—I don't think it's organizing an assault on you," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

"Dude, that's what they _want_ you to think."

"Are you _high_?" Sam asked him incredulously, shaking his head with disbelief. "Did you smoke something before you got here? Because I gotta tell you, you're sounding pretty ridiculous right now."

"Yeah? Well you're sounding pretty fucking annoying right now," Dean threw back, deciding not to mention the Pepsi Jessica had poured for him a mere hour ago.

_It was just one—it wouldn't mess with my head. Nope, no need to mention it. Sam's just being a pain-in-the-ass—hell, it's just like old times, now._

"I bet he had caffeine," Aubrey said all of sudden, and Dean turned a murderous glare on her, half-way wondering if she'd somehow read his mind.

"Why don't you stay out of it? Besides, I thought you weren't talking to him," Dean pointed out, not really wanting his sister to stay pissed at Sam but not wanting her to help Sam make an argument against him.

"I'm not," Aubrey said innocently. "I was just sayin'."

"Yeah, well do me a favor and shut your pie-hole—you're not helping here," Dean told her irritably.

"When would he have—," Sam began, ignoring Dean as he thought out loud, only to stop with sudden realization. "Jess!" he called into the other room.

"What?" she called back, appearing in the doorway of the bedroom a second later.

"Did you give Dean anything with caffeine in it to drink?"

_For fuck's sake—this is stupid._

"Just a Pepsi—why?" Jessica was saying, a confused look on her face as she leaned against the door frame.

"Jess, you can't do that," Sam told her, dragging a hand over his eyes with a sigh that just made Dean feel even more pissed off.

"Is he diabetic? Oh shit, I'm sorry," Jess began, but Sam cut her off, shaking his head.

"No, he just doesn't handle caffeine well—makes him nuts. I should have warned you."

"Dammit, Sammy," Dean snarled, his good mood from earlier in the evening gone in the wake of the tension settling over the inhabitants of the apartment. "I'm not a hyperactive six-year-old that needs his caffeine intake monitored," he pointed out, annoyed now despite the fact that he _had_ had a little too much the week before.

"No, you're a hyperactive _twenty-four_-year-old that needs his caffeine intake monitored."

At Sam's words, Jess stifled a laugh, casting an apologetic look at Dean, even as she gazed at him speculatively, no doubt noticing his leg bouncing up and down and his fingers drumming the arms of the chair.

_Shit._

"You should have seen him last week, Jessica," Aubrey said mischievously, her awkwardness with Sam apparently not carrying over to Sam's girlfriend.

"Why? What happened last week?" Jess asked curiously, causing Dean to scowl.

_Okay, this is just fucking irritating. _

"He OD'ed on caffeinated drinks. You shoulda seen it—D was all like, vibrating, and Daddy was getting all ticked off 'cause D couldn't—"

"Okay, _hello_? I'm still in the damn room!" Dean said, glaring back at his siblings with what he hoped was enough pissed-off-ishness to give them a clue. "You need to can it, and fast, before I fucking lose it. I don't need anyone in this room's permission if I wanna consume a shit-load of caffeine. I had _one_ Pepsi, it _wasn't_ a big deal, and I'm _not_ having caffeine issues right now," he growled, knowing he was being seriously pissy and girl-with-PMS-like but really not caring too much at that point.

"Well if it's not caffeine-induced neurosis, then what is it?" Sam asked, "Because you're acting nine kinds of crazy, Dean, and I'm drawing a blank."

"Where would you like me to start? For one thing, I'm tired. Second of all, I'm edgy because _someone_ has left us completely unprotected here," he pointed out, ignoring the panicked look Sam sent in Jessica's direction and the confused expression on Jessica's face as he continued unimpeded. "And if _that's_ not enough, the hamster is making me fucking nervous, Sam. So why don't you back the hell off and move—I'm watching the hell-beast, and you're in my way," Dean told his brother, glaring back at him pointedly until Sam shook his head ruefully and stepped back.

"Dean," Sam began exasperatedly, but Jessica interrupted with a clearing of her throat.

"Sam," Jessica said gently, a hint of steel in her voice, "give your brother a break. He's tired."

"Yeah, Sam," Dean added with a dark, pointed look. "So shut it."

"Alright. Fine. If you wanna waste your time staring at a small rodent, be my guest," Sam said, rolling his eyes as he dropped heavily onto the sofa next to Aubrey.

_Piss-ant. _

He eyed Braden, waiting to see if his youngest brother was going to chime in on the 'let's bitch at Dean and try to piss him off' fest, but the stoic fourteen-year-old seemed completely unaware of what was going on around them, his eyes staring blankly back at the sketchpad in front of him, his hand moving across the page with lightning speed.

_Good. At least _somebody's_ not bitching or giving me a hard time._

He started trying to envision new ways to kill a hamster, ways that weren't on the list yet, mostly just to keep his mind busy and not thinking about everything that was wrong at the moment.

_Everything should be great—we're back with Sammy. So why is it not? Shit. Quit being an emo girl, and stop thinking so damn hard. Think about hamster homicide instead. _ _At least it's something to think about besides how damn stressed and tired I am. Hell, I might as well be a big pansy-ass girl for all the bitching and whining I'm doing._

Lost in thought, he almost didn't notice when Sam cleared his throat, a sure sign that his brother was about to venture into forbidden chick-flick territory.

"Dean? Listen…I think we really need to talk about what happened that night…you know, when I left."

_Oh fuck. C'mon, don't do this to me now._

"I don't think so, Sam," Dean said bluntly, deciding he'd rather have a root-canal than revisit the night Sam had turned his back on them.

"Look, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about—"

"For fuck's sake, Sam, we've already talked about it," he said, cutting his brother off mid-sentence as he fought back a surge of frustrated exasperation.

"No, we didn't—not really. We talked about the whole not-calling thing, but even that was sorta half-assed," Sam told him, the pointed expression on his face reminding Dean of long ago arguments with his brother, arguments he usually didn't win. But _this _time, he didn't plan on losing.

_No fucking way, little brother. _

"Look, I know I hurt you when I—" Sam continued, but Dean wasn't having any of it.

"Dude, we're _not_ going there," Dean bit out, leveling a hot gaze on his brother that he was pretty sure was enough to give Sam a damn clue.

"But—"

"What about 'we're not going there' do you not understand, Sam?! I'm tired, I'm pissed-off for no fucking reason, and I do _not_ wanna talk about _my_ feelings or _your_ feelings, or hell, _anybody's_ feelings right now! So sit down, shut the hell up, and quit it with the Dr. Phil shit before I have to kick your ass!"

Just then, Dean caught the sound of a heavy tread on the stairs outside the door, and he knew his father had arrived. And apparently, his siblings had noticed, too, he knew, as he watched Braden stiffen nervously, even as Sam froze.

_Okay, I get why Sam's nervous, but what's Braden so worried about? He couldn't help the sleepwalking thing, so it's not like Dad's going to bitch him out for it._

When there was a knock at the door a second later, none of them could really say they were surprised, but yet, no one made any move toward the door, Aubrey taking her cue from Braden, who stayed seated, even as Sam stood motionless for the first time in an hour, his nervous gaze locked on the door.

"Dude, just go open the door," Dean said abruptly, glad his father was finally here to take some of the weight off his shoulders.

Just as Sam was reaching for the door, the hair on the back of Dean's neck stood straight up, even as a chill shot down his spine and lightning flashed outside. Immediately, he shifted his gaze, no longer watching to see how Sam was going to handle facing their father again but instead searching for what had him spooked.

Somehow, he just knew something bad was about to happen. He was already on his feet when glass shattered in the bedroom, a sickening smell sweeping into the room through the now broken bedroom window.

_Oh shit._

"Everybody out now!" John yelled into the room, grabbing Sam by the arm, the twins moving towards Sam and their dad just as Jessica was suddenly yanked backwards into the bedroom by an invisible force. The door slammed behind her, but it wasn't enough to cut off the sound of her terrified voice screaming Sam's name.

"Jess! Dad, no, let me go!" Sam yelled, fighting the unrelinquishing hold their father had on him.

"Dean!" John shouted, straining against Sam even as he looked back over his shoulder at Dean, his eyes filled with alarm.

"I can handle it, Dad!" Dean yelled, already throwing himself at the bedroom door, counting on his father to get Sam out and not let him back in. "Just get Sam out!" Sam was out of practice, and the sulfuric smell permeating the air was all Dean needed to know.

_If Sam comes back in, he's gonna get himself killed—keep him outside, Dad!_

As he slammed his shoulder into the door again, he saw his father bodily haul Sam out the door, fighting the desperate twenty-one-year-old, even as Aubrey started to dart out only to pause in the doorway, turning back to yell for Braden, who Dean had lost sight of somehow. John threw his hand out, grabbing her shoulder and jerking her out, pushing her ahead of him before putting his entire weight into holding back Sam.

"We're out, Dean! Move your ass!" John shouted, and that was really all he had to say, because Dean knew his father wasn't going to be able to help much, not with Sam fighting so hard to get back in.

_Sam's out, Aubrey, and Dad. Braden—where the hell is Braden? Did he make it out with the others? Shit! _

He kicked out at the door, wincing when the door refused to yield under the blow, so he reared back to slam his shoulder into it again, biting back a curse when pain shot through his shoulder, even as the door swung open. Counting on the adrenaline coursing through him to help him ignore the pain, he tore into the bedroom and almost immediately was lifted off his feet and slammed into the wall, his shoulder screaming with pain as he impacted.

"Fuck!" he yelled, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to breathe through it, the sight of Jessica hanging against the wall across from the door enough to make him fight through the pain. His resolve hardened when he noticed the sinister form standing at the window staring back at him with a malicious smile and familiar yellow eyes.

"Dean Winchester—it's been awhile," the demon said, its gravelly, sardonic voice grating on Dean's ear. "I never would've guess that the weak-willed, snot-nosed four-year-old you were would turn into such a big, bad hunter. Daddy must be so _proud_."

_Oh shit. Fuck no!_

Shaking off the impact with the wall and holding his arm close to his body, he launched himself to his feet, only to be casually thrown into the dresser by unseen hands, his body crashing into the mirror with a crack as the sound of Jessica screaming his name rang in his ears. He fell to the floor, pain shooting through him as he slowly climbed to his knees, Jessica whimpering with growing panic as she fought the demon's hold on her.

Yellow eyes met green as Dean picked himself up, narrowing his gaze on the mocking visage staring back at him.

"What, no _biting_ comeback?"

"Shut the hell up, you son of a bitch!" Dean forced out, his jaw clenched against the pain.

"Now, now, Dean—that's not very nice. What would your mother say?" he asked mockingly, a leer on his face.

"I'm gonna kill you," Dean told him coldly, his voice low as he hurled himself toward the demon, the pain from before forgotten as rage took hold. He didn't make it more than two feet before he was lifted off his feet once again and thrown back into the wall, an invisible force holding him there, pressing against him with suffocating force.

"Your resolve is admirable—really—but sometimes, you just gotta know when to throw in the towel and call it a day," the demon said lightly.

"Sorry—I don't give up so easily," Dean said, fighting the demon's hold as Jessica screamed again, her body slowly beginning to slide upward towards the ceiling.

_No! Not again!_ he thought, images of his mother on the ceiling flashing through his mind like it was yesterday, and suddenly his body was straining, desperately pulling against the force holding him back, his muscles shrieking in protest. Frustrated when he couldn't move, he slammed his head back against the wall, fury burning in him.

"Dammit!"

"You know," the demon told him, "that never-say-die attitude you Winchesters have—I admire that about you. But I gotta tell ya', that Winchester stubbornness is gonna come back to bite you in the ass one day."

Above them, Jessica began to sob, the sound cutting into him as she stared down at him from the ceiling, her panic-stricken eyes pleading with him to help, even while she fought the demon's hold, struggling for all she was worth.

_Shit! Stall him, Dean, keep him talking!_

"Why are you here?" he snarled, his jaw aching as he ground his teeth together in rage.

"Ah, that. Well, you see, Dean—the girl—she's what you might call a _complication_. And I just don't like complications—makes things so _messy_."

"How is she a complication?! She's got nothing to do with you!"

"How should I put this?" the demon asked, making a show of pretending to ponder the question before he continued. "She's a complication the way _you're_ a complication. The two of you singlehandedly undermine everything I'm trying to do by distracting your brother from his true purpose."

_What the—_

"His true purpose? What the hell are you talking about?" Dean asked, knowing deep down that he wasn't asking to distract the demon. Not anymore. No, now he just wanted to know how the hell his brother figured into a demon's plans.

_The same demon that killed Mom. What if wasn't random? What if he's had something planned since the night he killed Mom. No. Please, no. Dad, where are you? We need you._

"I have a plan for him—but let's not jump the gun. We wouldn't wanna ruin the surprise now, would we?"

_Oh, fuck._

And just as the demon began to turn back towards Jessica, he stilled, his eyes narrowing on the door, and Dean turned his head, panic surging through him at the sight of Braden standing the doorway with an enigmatic smile, an open Sharpie in his hand.

"No, Braden! Run!" Dean yelled, everything in him screaming at him to protect his brother.

"Now, now, Dean," the demon said with a sinister grin. "Let's not be hasty—it's like they say, 'the more, the merrier.'"

"You leave him alone, you son of a bitch!"

"I believe we haven't had the pleasure of being introduced," the demon continued, ignoring Dean as he watched Braden calmly walk inside, the fourteen-year-old circling around the demon until the demon was between him and the door.

_No, Braden, what are you doing?! You're cutting yourself off from the exit!_

Desperation hit Dean full-force, and with renewed energy, he began to struggle again in earnest, biting back a scream as excruciating pain shot through his shoulder at the movement.

"Allow me to introduce myself, then," Braden said, the words sounding foreign and strange to Dean's ears, even as it registered that the tone was all wrong, too.

And then, all thought flew from his mind as Braden threw himself at the demon with reckless abandon.

"NO!" Dean yelled, Jessica crying out a warning at the same time, her muffled sobs forgotten as she watched along with him as Braden made contact, his compact frame hitting the demon with enough force to propel the demon through the door and into the living room. And as soon as the demon crossed the threshold, it was as though a switch had been flipped, because Dean was suddenly free.

Jessica dropped a split-second later, landing heavily on her feet with a cry of pain before falling to her hands and knees. As Dean fought to catch his breath after the pain that had shot through him, Braden threw himself back into the room, panic-stricken, clipping his head on the door frame and dropping limply to the floor.

Outside the room, the demon rose, his yellow eyes flashing with dark rage as he stalked towards the door. Only to draw up short at the doorway with a hiss.

"Clever boy," he said darkly, eyeing the floor outside the door. "Infuriating, but clever nonetheless."

Dean's gaze dropped to the floor and there, barely visible was a ward drawn on the wooden floorboards, just big enough to keep the demon from entering.

"Ah well, you know what they say," the demon said with a shrug, and though his tone was amiable, there was an edge to it and a promise in the demon's eyes that told Dean that this wasn't over. "You win some, you lose some," the demon finished. "I'll be seein' ya, Dean. That is, if you make it out of here alive. If you do, take care of that brother of yours for me."

And in the blink of an eye, flames erupted in the living room, rushing across the ceiling and the floor with a speed that was frightening. As the demon vanished with a smirk and a parting wave, smoke was already beginning to pour into the room, even as the flames began to lick at the door, eerily flowing around the ward Braden had drawn on the floor.

_Oh shit._

Darting to the door, he grabbed Braden by the arm, dragging the unconscious fourteen-year-old further into the room before slamming the door shut, trying to buy more time before the fire spread into the room.

"We gotta get outta here—that fire is spreading fast. Can you move?"

"Not well," Jessica told him, her face stricken as she glanced down at her ankle. "I think I sprained it when I fell," she finished, biting her lip, though whether it was to hold back a cry of pain or a cry of despair, Dean couldn't say. He didn't reply, instead hurrying to the window, cursing viciously when the window refused to open. Smoke was starting to drift under the door, and one glance was enough to tell him that flames were beginning to breach the door's integrity.

"Try to wake Braden up—and stay low," he ordered, barely holding back a cough as he started pulling his Henley over his head. As Jessica slid across the floor and started trying to wake Braden, Dean wrapped the shirt around his arm as best he could with his shoulder burning with pain. Turning his face, he slammed his fist into the window, using the shirt to sweep the broken shards of glass from the windowpane. Turning back, he was relieved to see Braden sitting up, cradling his head in his hands as he glanced back at Dean with a pained grimace.

"Up, we gotta move!" Dean said, using his good arm to grab his little brother by the arm and haul him up, steadying him before he leaned down and helped Jessica to her feet. "Braden, window—go!" Jessica wobbled, unable to put weight on her ankle, and lacking any patience to warn her, he simply ducked, one-arming her over his shoulder in a fireman's hold as he hurried to the window behind Braden. Braden fell more than crawled out of the window, obviously dazed and a bit dizzy from the knock he'd taken to the head.

_C'mon, Bray, help me out here—I can't do this on my own._

"Bray, focus!" he said sharply, somewhat reassured when Braden forced his eyes up, holding his gaze, though it obviously took considerable effort. "You're gonna have to help me with Jessica, okay? Help her through, and keep her feet off the ground—there's glass out there and she's barefoot. You just hold her long enough for me to get out there, and then I'll take it from there. You hear me?"

"Yeah," Braden mumbled, grabbing the sill and proceeding to fall more than climb out of the window.

"You okay?" Dean asked, coughing a bit as he moved Jessica closer to the window.

"Yeah," Braden told him, climbing unsteadily to his feet and turning to help Dean with Jessica.

"Jess, I'm gonna have to send you through ass-first—just let Braden grab you, 'cause if you try to catch yourself, you're just gonna get hurt on the glass or that ankle."

"Okay," she said, and Dean bent, setting her rear-end down on the windowsill and letting Braden help her slide out. He followed a second later, holding back a groan as his injured shoulder brushed the frame of the window. Outside, Braden was doing his best to hold Jessica up, not an easy task for the average fourteen-year-old, even one with Braden's height. Wordlessly, Dean hoisted Jessica back over his shoulder, mumbling an apology for slinging her around like a sack of potatoes.

"Go, Braden," he ordered, following him down the stairs of the fire escape, grateful that the adrenaline coursing through his veins was enough to mask the pain from his repeated collisions with the walls of Sam's bedroom.

_And the dresser—let's not forget the dresser. Oh, and the door. That fucker's messed up my shoulder. Yeah, I'm so gonna be feeling this in a couple of hours._

But physical pain was better than emotional pain, and Dean was grateful for every ache and burning pain, because at least it meant he had something to focus on other than the fact that he'd just come face-to-face with the same thing that he had seen kill his mother so many years ago, the same yellow-ochre eyes that had haunted him since he was four years old.

The same thing that said it had plans for his brother.

"Dean!"

Looking up from where he'd been focused on putting one foot in front of the other and not falling down the stairs, he saw his dad hurrying up the stairs toward him, Sam right on his heels, and Aubrey standing at the bottom gazing worriedly back up at them.

"Go!" Dean yelled down at her, tightening his hold on Jessica as his father swept Braden up and hauled ass down the stairs, grabbing Sam's shoulder and roughly turning him around and propelling him forward in front of him.

"Dad, wait!" Sam argued, but John wasn't having any of it.

"Your brother's got her, Sam—now move! Get in the car!"

The rain hammered at them, drenching them within seconds, and Dean felt the chill seeping into him even as Jessica clung to him, her fingers curled in the fabric at his nape.

Aubrey already had the driver's side door of the Impala open when they reached the ground, sliding inside only a step ahead of Sam, who threw himself into the car and slid into the passenger's seat, holding his arms out for Jess. Dean all but slung her in, barking out a warning for Sam to be careful with her ankle as he slid behind the wheel and jammed the key into the ignition.

They peeled away from the curb with the tires screeching, the smell of burning rubber following them as the Impala fell into place behind their father's GMC.

As Sam pulled Jessica in against his side, his arm hugging her close, he was already asking her if she was okay, running his free hand down her arms and legs to check for injuries and frantically asking her if she was okay.

"Yeah, I think so," Jessica murmured shakily. "I twisted my ankle, but…um…I'm okay."

"Turn sideways in the seat and prop your ankle up," Dean said abruptly, wanting to prevent or at least delay the inevitable breakdown that he just knew was coming. Wordlessly, Jessica twisted around, carefully lifting her ankle and hesitantly shifting back towards Sam so she'd have more room to stretch out across the seat. Unfortunately, the front seat wasn't _quite_ that large. "Look, either turn and put your back to me and prop your ankle up on Sam, or stay where you are and prop it up on my lap," Dean said with a sigh as she sat there trying to figure out what exactly to do.

"Uh, you sure you won't mind?"

"It's fine."

_Just please don't knock into me,_ he added silently, suppressing a groan at the thought of his shoulder hitting the car-door if Jessica managed to jar him. The adrenaline rush he had going was no doubt going to completely disappear sooner rather than later, and already he could feel the pain growing.

_Probably shoulda let Sam drive,_ he thought absently, but truthfully, he hated relinquishing control of his baby to anyone. Not if he was still conscious. _Just focus on something else, anything but how much the shoulder's hurtin'. _

Jessica shifted, pulling his attention back to the present, and from the corner of his eye, he could see her bite her lip nervously before she slowly slid over, her calf coming to rest across his thigh, her dainty foot in his lap.

If his shoulder wasn't hurting like a bitch, he'd probably have something to say about having this chick's foot so close to his dick, but as it was, it would just take too much energy, so he kept quiet, focusing on the road so he wouldn't be so aware of the pain he was in.

"You sure it's only your ankle?" Dean vaguely heard Sam ask worriedly as Jess drew in a quick breath, trying to settle.

"I'm sure," she whispered. "But…I…I don't understand _any_ of this," she said, her voice shaking enough that Dean sighed.

_I shoulda known they weren't gonna shut up and let me zone out in peace. _

Because judging from her tone, Dean knew Jess had just about reached the limit of her endurance.

_Yeah, you and me both. _

_Shit._

"What happened in there?" she asked, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

"Baby, this isn't a good time—I'll explain everything later," Sam said cajolingly, and Dean knew without a doubt that the shit was about to hit the fan.

"No, you'll explain _now_—I'm tired of it, Sam, the mis-directions, the half-truths, the evasions, all of it! Our apartment is going up in flames along with everything we own, my ankle hurts, I'm scared, and you're going to sit there and tell me '_later'_?"

_Ouch._

"Jess," Sam began, and Dean winced, well aware that Sam's tone was no doubt going to be followed by patronizing words that would not go over well.

"No, you tell me what just happened, Sam," Jessica told him, her voice thick, though whether from anger or tears, Dean couldn't tell.

"You shoulda told her the truth, Sam," Aubrey said quietly from the backseat.

"Aubrey, why the hell would I do that? Who in their right mind would believe the truth?"

"Just because it's hard to believe doesn't make it any less true," she told him matter-of-factly, a subtle hint of snark in her tone that Dean wasn't entirely sure Sam would catch.

"Well when it's your turn to tell your significant other the truth about this family, then you can cast stones at me," Sam bit out.

_Okay, guess he did catch it. Great_, Dean thought, vaguely aware that with Jessica beside him now, he was no longer the only one stuck in the middle, listening to yet another family squabble unfold_._

_Fuck. Do we have to do this right now? Can't they just shut the hell up? How the hell can I focus on anything besides how much my shoulder fucking hurts when they won't stop bitching at each other and let me concentrate?_

"Until then—" Sam was saying, but Aubrey just as quickly interrupted him, her eyes narrowing as she went toe-to-toe with the only other member of the family who was as argumentative as their father.

"Whatever happened to trust," she pointed out. "If you love her like you _claim_, you should trust that she'd believe you—"

_Hell, it's like nothing's changed. The sniping just picks up where it left off,_ Dean thought wearily, too tired and in pain to deal with it.

"Aubrey," Dean broke in, "quit giving Sam a hard time about doing what Dad told him to do—'we do what we do and we shut up about it.' You know that. And Sam—stop taking your issues out on the rest of us and tell your girl the truth already."

"I…I don't know where to start," Sam said quietly after a long, painful moment in which Jessica stared at him expectantly. "I didn't want you to know about all this."

"This _what_?"

"This thing we do—my family, I mean."

_Dammit, Sammy, quit beating around the bush and just tell her._

"And what is this 'thing' your family does?" Jessica asked impatiently.

"I—well, we…"

"It's like this, Jessica," Dean said, tiredness and the pain radiating through him cutting his already minimal patience down to nothing. He was as tired of the evasions as Jessica was at this point. "We hunt evil, supernatural shit, okay? All those fuglies you see on movies and read about in Stephen King books—all that's real. Vampires, ghosts, werewolves, all of it. And we kill it."

"Oh," Jessica murmured, and Dean could see from the corner of his eyes that she was staring wide-eyed through the windshield, as though the rain pounding against the glass could somehow help her make sense of what she'd heard.

"Way to break it to her gently, Dean," Sam said angrily, no doubt putting his huge brain to work trying to figure out a way to fix things.

_Haven't you figured out yet that you can't fix shit like this? _he thought, not responding to his brother, who he had a feeling was just spoiling for a fight.

"So what happened in our apartment?" Jessica said into the silence. "What was _that_?"

"I don't know," Sam replied, an edge of bitterness in his tone.

"Are you serious?" Jessica threw back disbelievingly, and Dean sighed, knowing Sam was about to get it right there.

_Little brother never _has_ been able to let a potential argument go. I love my brother, but damn. Learn when to quit, Sammy. _

He tuned them out, trying to distract himself from the aches he was feeling and the pain burning in his shoulder by counting the Hondas they passed on the road. He wasn't sure how much time passed as he made note of the two reds, the four blacks, and the one white that he spotted, preferring the numbers to the drama and the pain inside the car.

Suddenly, Jessica shifted, scooting towards him a bit as she peered back at him worriedly, and that was when he realized that everyone was staring at him.

"What?"

"You okay?" Sam asked him softly, and Dean sighed, seriously not wanting to deal with Sam in a worried, mother-hen mood.

"'m fine."

_Not really._

"Sure?"

"_Yes_, Sammy."

_Except for my shoulder hurting like a bitch._

"Alright," Sam said with a sigh, letting it go for once, which Dean was truly grateful for. "So are you gonna answer Jess's question then?"

"What question?"

"Dude, haven't you heard a damn thing we've said in the last ten minutes?"

"Nah. I tuned you out ten minutes ago. Too much drama."

_And there's that famous bitch-face of yours, Sammy. _

"Well, if you'll kindly grace us with your attention for a few minutes, Jess was asking you about what happened."

"What do you mean 'what happened?' It was pretty straightforward—she was there," Dean said absentmindedly, trying to regain the focus he'd had before the two of them had interrupted his count. It was something he'd learned to do a long time ago—distract himself from pain with the numbers.

_But it'd work better if Sammy would shut the hell up and let me concentrate_, he thought, grimacing as a bump in the road jarred his shoulder painfully.

_Five for black,_ he thought, spotting the Accord overtaking a truck a few hundred yards ahead_. Red Civic on the entrance ramp—that makes…three red. _

"Dean—focus," Sam said, snapping his fingers in front of Dean's face.

"Dude, if you don't get your damn hand outta my face, I'm gonna start breakin' fingers," Dean said crossly, not really meaning the part about breaking his brother's fingers but getting his point across nevertheless as Sam retracts his hand. "Why do you gotta nag me all the time? You're like a—"

"Dean Winchester," Jessica broke in with a narrowed gaze, "if you say 'woman,' I'm gonna have to hit you," her voice mildly rebuking as she pointed a finger at him.

"I wasn't gonna say that," he told her, lying through his teeth and reminding himself that he'd have to watch it from now on. _'s not like I woulda meant anything by it. I love women. They just have a tendency to be all…_

"Dude, you must have started becoming more and more like a five-year-old with an attention deficit disorder while I was gone—I don't remember it being this bad," Sam said, rubbing his forehead wearily.

"What?"

"You keep zoning out on me," Sam said exasperatedly.

_Yeah, well, you try driving with a dislocated shoulder and see how well you can follow a damn conversation,_ Dean thought with an annoyed frown. _Of course, the adrenaline and the Pepsi don't help, and okay, maybe the Pepsi's my fault, but that other shit isn't, 'cause I sure as hell can't help it when I get—well, okay, maybe I shouldn't have thrown myself at a door. But it's not like I had much choice, 'cause Jessica wasn't gonna get herself off the damn wall, and the door wasn't just gonna—white Honda CR-V. Two._

"Dean, just tell Jess what it was already," Sam said with a resigned sigh.

"What _what_ was?"

"What was in our apartment, Dean! For crying out loud, would you pay attention?"

Against his will, Dean was suddenly reminded with painful clarity of everything that had transpired, of the demon he was trying so desperately to forget. He felt himself tensing, cursing inwardly as the tightening muscles sent a frisson of agony through his already throbbing shoulder.

"We'll talk about it later," he murmured, his teeth clenched so tightly his jaw was aching.

"We wanna know now, Dean," Sam told him seriously, and for Dean, his brother's unwillingness to drop it was enough to push him over the edge.

"Tough shit, Sam! I said _later_!" he yelled, wincing at the dryness in his throat. The occupants of the car fell silent, and Dean was more than grateful to go back to his counting, glad to distract himself from the pain once again.

"Um, D?" Aubrey asked ,three more white Hondas, one blue, and ten minutes of blissful silence later.

"What?"

"Um, you think we're gonna stop soon?"

"At the speed Dad's going, I'd say no," Dean told her, glancing back in the rearview mirror to see her shadowed face looking entirely too evasive for Dean's comfort. "Why?" he asked, knowing that he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Well, I sorta need a box."

"What the hell for?"

"'cause I need something to put Lucy in," she mumbled.

"What?! Are you fucking telling me that your damn hamster is loose in my car?!" Dean yelled, ignoring the pain as adrenaline surged through him again.

"Well, no, I'm _holding_ her," Aubrey rationalized. "She's not really _loose._"

"Oh hell no," Dean snarled. "Sam, call Dad and tell him we need to stop."

"Why can't you call him?" Sam grumbled.

"Because my phone's in my pocket where I can't easily get to it."

_And because I can't hold the phone and drive at the same time with a fucked up shoulder._

Luckily, Sam complied, dragging his monster-ass cell phone out and dialing Dad's number, which strangely enough was still programmed in, Dean noticed, vaguely adding one to the white Honda list even as he glanced back to make sure Aubrey and her pet-from-Hell hadn't moved any closer to him.

"_Dean says we need to stop_," Sam was saying into the phone. "_Because he's freaking out about the hamster being in the car minus a cage…_yes_, I'm serious…_Dean, Dad wants to talk to you."

"Put it on speaker," Dean growled, wondering why the hell they couldn't just stop instead of _talk_ about it first.

"Dean, what's going on?" John asked, his gruff voice distinct and clear as it came through the phone.

"What's wrong?! The fucking hamster made it out alive—that's what's wrong! And if that's not bad enough, Aubrey had to go and leave the damn cage inside the burning apartment building!"

"Dean, did you hit your head, son?"

"The hell-beast is loose in my car, Dad! What about that are you not getting?!" Dean yelled, vehemently ignoring the question.

"Don't you think we have more important things to worry about?"

"I'm sure we do," Dean said easily, "but I'm still not letting a fucking rodent stay free in my car. You gotta keep 'em contained, Dad, or they start multiplyin' like fucking rabbits."

"Dean, hamsters aren't asexual," Sam interjected, "and unless there's a male hamster in here, I think you're safe from spontaneous reproduction," he said, that annoying-as-hell know-it-all tone back in his voice.

"Shut it, Sam!" Dean said, ignoring the look Sam was giving him as well as the giggles that Jessica was trying so hard to smother. "Dad, either we pull over, or I'm making Sam throw it out the window, I swear," he told his father intently.

"Daddy, do something!" Aubrey shrieked from the backseat, beginning to panic at the ominous sincerity in Dean's voice.

"Dean, are you shitting me? You can't be serious," John asked incredulously.

"As a fucking heart attack, Dad."

"Dean, I'll keep her in my hands—she won't get loose, I swear!" Aubrey was hollering, no doubt trying to be heard since no one was really paying her any attention.

"You're twenty-four years old, son," John was saying, "Isn't it about time to let go of this irrational fear of hamsters?"

"Aubrey's fourteen years old—isn't it about time she let go of her pathological need to keep evil rodents from hell?" Dean retorted, pleased with what he deemed an exceptionally well-made argument.

"Fine," John said with a weary sigh. "We'll pull over at the gas station. We need to stop for ice soon anyway."

"Let's just pull off now," Dean suggested with false ease, well aware that his father's suggestion was more than reasonable—hell, he could use some ice to numb his shoulder out of its misery—but unable to fathom spending any more time with his sister's rodent than he already had. Maybe any other time, it wouldn't have bothered him _quite _so much, but after the day and night they'd had, Dean had reached the end of the line, too tense and too hurting to endure anything else.

"Dammit, Dean," John said irritably, his own frustration truly trickling through the phone.

"I'm pulling over," Dean announced, no longer willing to argue, plea, or cajole any longer. Slowing, he steered the car onto the shoulder, glad they had gotten off the interstate an hour ago so that he had a slightly easier time one-arming it. Cautious of his shoulder, Dean slid out of the car and folded the seat down, motioning for Aubrey to get out.

"You and your beady-eyed rodent better go ride with Dad before I change my mind and make Sammy chuck the damn thing out the window."

She jumped out and ran for John's truck, Lucy cradled tightly in her hands as Dean watched her go before settling back into the car, grunting as he maneuvered to shut the door without jarring his left shoulder any further. He purposefully ignored the incredulous look Sam was giving him, instead mentally tallying up the Hondas before he prepared to continue, his shoulder hurting so badly that it was getting harder to tune it out.

"I can't believe you just did that," Sam said, shaking his head disbelievingly as Dean pulled back onto the road.

"Sammy. What in our long history as brothers makes it hard for you to believe that I did that? Seriously."

"Okay, you've got a point there," Sam said after a moment, and Jess giggled, as she carefully propped her ankle back on Dean's lap. She settled back against Sam, her head pillowed on his shoulder as Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters" filtered softly through the speakers, one of the rare occurrences in which it wasn't blaringly loud. And Dean gratefully went back to his counting, grateful that things in the car appeared to be settling down, the conversation from before forgotten, or at the very least, abandoned for the time being.

Eight reds, four blues, five blacks, and two more whites later, Jessica was asleep, for all intents and purposes leaving the two Winchesters virtually alone in the silence—except for the music—and Dean was glad for it, since it meant he could count cars and ignore the pain in his shoulder uninterrupted. Of course, that was about the time that Sam cleared his throat expectantly.

_Shit. He's gonna ruin it. I just know it. Dammit, Sammy, why you gotta do this to me when my shoulder's hurtin' like a bitch._

Sam reached forward, cutting the music off, and Dean groaned inwardly, ready to give Sammy the smack-down as soon as he started in with the girly, chick-flick talk.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam murmured after a moment, the words gently cutting through the silence.

_Okay, that's not _quite_ what I expected…_

"Thanks for what?"

"For saving Jess," Sam said softly. "I…I don't…if anything had…I don't know what I would've done—"

"You're welcome," Dean told him, cutting off what he knew was about to become a painfully awkward chick-flick moment the likes of which hadn't been seen in the Winchester family in years.

"I'm gonna marry her someday."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Wow," Dean mumbled, not really certain what to think, nevertheless what to say to his brother's announcement.

The car was silent again after that, leaving Dean to think on what his brother had said.

_What's it like to have that with someone, that kind of love?_

It was an all-consuming sort of love, Dean knew, the kind of which he'd never experienced with a woman and had only seen once.

_Dad loved Mom like that—hell, he still does. Why the hell would anyone want that? To be so in love, so vulnerable, that losing them would cut so deep that you might as well be dead? It's not worth it. _

But looking out of the corner of his eye at Jessica cuddled up next to Sam in the seat, Dean wondered. He wondered, and he began to think, that maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk. Sam had taken that risk, and without a shadow of a doubt, Dean knew that he'd kill to keep Sam from experiencing the sort of devastation that had all but destroyed their father so many years ago.

_I won't let anything take her from you, Sammy. I swear._

* * *

A/N: I know this chapter didn't exactly feature the John and Sam reunion moment you were all hoping for—but don't worry, because I have a lovely scene planned for them in the next chapter. It's already written out!

**Bunty**: The first John chapter in like, forever, is up next, so you'll get the reunion moment with Sam then. In the chaos that took place in this chapter, an emotional moment wasn't gonna happen. Anyways, thanks for reviewing!

**Rholou**: So glad it's still coming across as realistic! And I'm _definitely_ glad you're still enjoying it!

**Stoic81**: Hey, I guess reviewing pays off, since you found my fic through my Pie review! As you probably noticed, I started posting my fic on LJ, but promptly quit after two chapters simply because there was little motivation for anyone to read it on LJ, you know, since more can be found on FFnet. One of my LJ friends, atalantaj, has been encouraging me to try and shift it to a discipline fic on LJ, while the one here remains the same…probably won't happen anytime _soon_, though. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the hamster bits and the Dean and Sam banter in this chapter as well! Thanks for reviewing!

**DrifterFanatic92**: I'm glad to hear you're liking Aubrey more now—I think most people found her a bit harder to take when she was younger. LOL! Anyways, not sure if you got my message concerning Braden's appearance, but I did try. If you think of someone better to picture him as, though, let me know!

**PRACK**: Okay, if you're planning on someone cutting Dean a break anytime soon, then you're reading the wrong fic. LOL, just kidding! But I do tend to be a little heavy-handed on the Dean angst, so there's not going to be much in the way of sunshine and daisies for our boy anytime soon. As for asinine behavior you mentioned in your review—well, John, Braden, and Sam _are_ Winchesters after all, so of course they're going to act like asses from time to time. Or in John's case, a lot of times. LOL! So how'd I do with the Sam vs. caffeinated Dean moment?

**Jenmm31**: Well, I was going to try to give you a ballpark chapter number for when the truth about Braden comes out, but I haven't planned things out that far in advance. I mean, I have a plot-line, and I know the sequence of events that need to take place—I just don't know how many chapters it will take to write out that sequence of events. So, at a guess, it'll probably be four chapters, but who knows for sure? John has a chapter up next, so you'll get the Sam and John moment you were probably hoping for in this chapter—but I think it'll be worth the wait! Thanks for the review!

**zuimar**: Yay, I'm beginning to win people over to the pro-Aubrey side! It's been pretty touch-and-go for awhile now—haha! So how did I do with the Sam and Dean moments in this chapter? My beta pointed out the lack of 'bad feelings' between the boys, so I tried to go back in and play around with it for a bit, since she was totally spot-on about there needing to be some sort of allusion to guilt or what-not. Anyways, I fulfilled your request for Dean getting hurt protecting Jessica—how did I do? Thanks for reviewing!

**saberivojo**: I hope this chapter fulfilled your expectations! I know everyone was likely hoping for the angsty or fury-ridden reunion between John and Sam, but I just couldn't pull off a convincing reunion in this chapter. So I've delayed it until John's chapter, which is up next—but I totally think it'll be worth the wait! Stay tuned! And thanks for the review!

**eggylaine**: Sorry that you didn't get the 'John coming back' scene that you were hoping for in this chapter. But Sam's first face-to-face talk with John is in the next chapter—I already have it written—and I think it's going to be worth the wait crosses fingers tightly. Sam's headache from the last chapter isn't really vision-related, at least not as far as I know. I'm sorta playing things by ear right now, but at this point, Sam's headache was just a headache. Anyways, thanks so much for the review!

**iVans**: You paused your show for me?! Aww, that's so sweet! I'm touched! Aubrey's reaction to Sam is slowly going to fix itself, I think, as she's not one to hold a grudge—probably the only Winchester who doesn't! And as far as John's appearance, I supposed you've already guessed that his response to Sam's current life has been drastically altered now. But you'll get a wonderfully sentimental moment between John and Sam in the next chapter! So stay tuned, okay?! Thanks for reviewing!

**Sammyluvr83**: So glad you're loving it! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, too! Thanks for the review!!


	31. The Truth of the Matter

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks to mimishell, as always, for reviewing for me—and she did it so quickly, too! And thanks to everyone for hanging in there despite the seemingly endless wait for this chapter. I'm already working on the next chapter, I swear!

Chapter 31: The Truth of the Matter

Immediate danger past, John couldn't really explain the sense of urgency that was driving him to get his family and get the hell outta Dodge. But John hadn't lived as long as he had by ignoring his gut instinct. So after they peeled out of Palo Alto in the middle of the night, he was none too eager to pull over somewhere to rest for what little was left of the night. No, he'd much rather wait for daylight, where at least there was a semblance of safety if not a certainty. He had grudgingly put up with Dean's insistence that he pull over long enough to collect Aubrey and that annoying-as-hell hamster, but they'd continued driving ever since, the stupid rodent nestled safely in the pouch of a discarded hoodie that Aubrey had put on not long after she'd gotten into the truck. They'd continued driving ever since, but now, though, it had been over two hours, and he knew they needed to stop at least long enough to check everyone over.

_Gotta get fucking hamster food somewhere, too. Shit. Hell, we'll just let the little fucker eat crumbs from the stash of saltines Aubrey's got stashed in the back somewhere. Yeah, that'll do. _

Really, the hamster's accommodations were the least of their worries, but at least he could _do_ something about the damn hamster. Everything else at this point was questionable.

"Aubrey, call your brother—tell him to pull off at the next gas station exit."

She relayed the order to Dean or Sam, or whoever the hell had answered the phone on the other end, and ten minutes later, John climbed out of the truck and headed over to the driver's side of the Impala. Dean had dropped his head back against the seat and even without asking, John knew his oldest was hurting, the slight frown marring of Dean's brow and the clenching of his teeth giving the normally closemouthed twenty-four-year-old away. Opening the door, John leaned down to check on him when Sam called out a warning.

"Dad—wait!" he said softly, careful not to wake the blonde sleeping peacefully against him.

"What?" John murmured back, aiming a questioning look at his second-oldest.

"It's his shoulder," Sam told him. "I think he dislocated it."

"You think he—dammit, Sam, when you think your brother has a dislocated shoulder, you need to stop the car and—" John started, wincing inwardly even as the words seemed to flow out of his mouth against his will.

"What the hell, Dad?" Sam retorted, more than ready to respond in kind obviously. "_He's_ the one driving, and the stubborn ass refused to pull over. What the fuck did you expect me to do, jerk the wheel out of his hands?"

"No, I expect you to call me and let _me_ handle him," John threw back, unwilling or unable to let the matter go.

_I swear, the boy's a damn genius, but he lacks common sense sometimes._

"Could you two stop already?" Dean asked wearily, his voice strained as he opened his eyes, staring dolefully back up at them.

_Shit._

"We need to pop this shoulder back into place," John said instead. "Sam, go inside and buy some ice," he told him, fishing into his back pocket for his wallet.

"I got it," Sam said sullenly, waving him off as he slid out from under Jessica and climbed out, slamming the door behind him.

"Don't take it out on the car, Sam! I'll kick your ass if you slam my door like that again!" Dean hollered after his brother, and John rolled his eyes, wondering how the hell Sam's girlfriend could still be asleep.

_Between me and the boys, it's a wonder we haven't woken her up, yet. 'Course, it's probably a helluva lot easier to sleep than to cope with all the weird shit that's happened in the last few hours. At this point, sleep's a blessing from her subconscious. _

"Dean, hop out and come around to the back, let me take a good look at that shoulder."

With a stifled groan, Dean slid carefully out of the car, following John to the back.

"'s Braden okay?" he inquired softly as John opened up the trunk.

"Yeah—he's got a bitch of a headache, but he's sleeping it off," John answered. "He's fine."

"Good," Dean mumbled, dropping onto the back bumper and slumping against the trunk as John reached for him. As soon as John touched his son's shoulder, Dean cried out, and though he immediately clamped down on it, John knew the simple touch had to have hurt like hell.

"Shit, son—I think we're gonna have to have a doc take care of this one."

"Can't you just pop it back in and be done with it?" Dean asked through clenched teeth.

"Not without hurting you, no."

"I can take it," Dean said confidently, and John decided not to mention how much the greenish tint to Dean's face belied his words.

"Son, it's too swollen to put it back into place without a local anesthetic—I don't need a medical degree to know that—hell, I don't even have to look at your shoulder to know _that_."

"Ah fuck."

"Well it's your own fault," John said gruffly even as he carefully eased his son over to get to the first aid kit in the trunk. "You should have told me about this as soon as we hit the edge of town. I could've done something about it then."

"We couldn't afford to stop that soon, Dad—it all but said it wasn't through with us."

"What was it?" John asked, pretty sure he knew the answer but wanting confirmation nevertheless. But Dean clammed up, his mouth tightening as he looked away.

_Shit._

"Look, just—"" Dean began, but John cut him off before he could change the subject, which was no doubt what he was about to do.

"Was it a demon?"

Dean's silence was the only confirmation John needed. Not that knowing made any difference—it didn't exactly improve things much.

_Still, the more we know, the better—it wouldn't help to know exactly what we're up against._

"Upper level?"

"Yessir," Dean mumbled.

_Hell, this just gets better and better, doesn't it?_

"Did it say what it wanted?"

Dean nodded, and John waited, trying not to push despite how much every fiber of his being was screaming at him to demand some answers. But pushing Dean to talk before he was ready usually didn't yield much beyond frustration, high blood pressure, and a lot of breakables getting smashed against the wall when Dean finally lost his temper.

_Still…I need answers—might have to risk it and damn the consequences._

It was a quandary that John had dealt with many times, and though he liked to think his children's needs won out most of the time, he could admit to himself that sometimes, sometimes they didn't.

Just then, Sam returned, toting a bag of ice in his hands. John hauled a few towels out of the trunk, glad that he'd taught his boy to be prepared.

"Dean, go on around and get in on the passenger side, let your brother drive."

"Nah, I'm okay to drive," Dean told him, conveniently ignoring the fact that he was currently cradling his arm against his chest, trying to keep from moving it at all.

"Too bad that wasn't a suggestion," John told him pointedly as he shut the trunk and turned to help Sam with the ice. With a growl of frustration, Dean slowly stood and moved around the trunk to the passenger's side, giving John a dark look over his shoulder before sliding into the seat, nudging Jessica awake and out of the way so she wouldn't touch his shoulder.

He and Sam made quick work of breaking the ice up and separating it into chunks for each of the three small towels they had spread on the hood of the trunk, John tying them off as Sam handed them to him.

"Give this one to Jessica," John said softly, handing it back to Sam.

"You know her name?" Sam asked, sounding surprised enough that John winced inwardly.

_Is it so hard to believe that I'd care? It fucking hurts to realize you're a bad enough parent that one of your children thinks you don't care enough to stay informed about him._

"Yeah," John told him gruffly, clearing his throat awkwardly. "D'you think I wouldn't check up on you every now and then?" he asked, nudging Sam's shoulder as he glanced back at Sam with a half-smile.

"Well…you seemed pretty mad when I left. And you told me not to come back. I figured you'd wiped your hands of me."

"Sam…I don't have to tell you that I have a temper. And when I get mad, I say shit I don't mean."

_Understatement of the fucking year._

"Then why didn't you call?"

"Because my pride is about as fucked up as my temper," John told him ruefully. Tying off a second towel, he handed it to Sam, grateful to have something else to look at besides his son's sad, regret-filled eyes. To say it was awkward and somewhat galling to apologize to one's own son was putting it mildly, John decided.

_I fucked up, though. I handled it all wrong two years ago, and this might be my only chance to make things right…_

"Look, Sam. You're my son, and—I know I don't say it enough to you or your brothers and sister—but I love you—nothing will ever change that. Not my temper, not my stubbornness, and not the stupid shit that I say sometimes. So for whatever it's worth, I'm sorry."

Sam was silent, and John couldn't say he was all that surprised.

_Yeah, it's not every day that I apologize for something. Boy must be wondering what the hell's wrong with me._

"Dad? Um…all of that stuff I said, about you and Mom, I didn't mean any of it," Sam said quietly, and though he didn't come right out and say the words, John could hear the unspoken apology underneath the soft-spoken words.

"I know."

With a slight smile, John threw his arm around his son's shoulder, pulling Sam close for just a minute, marveling over how tall the boy had gotten in just two years. Sam clung to him for a moment longer, fingers fisted tight in his father's jacket before he slowly stepped back.

"Go take care of your girlfriend," he said softly, gently nudging Sam towards the front of the car. Sam gave him a soft smile and started back only to pause, turning to face John.

"Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I get it now."

"Get what?"

"What you told me all those year ago, about holding on tight if I ever found a special girl. If I lost Jess…I don't know what I'd do."

"You love her?" John asked gruffly, his voice quiet in the twilight darkness.

"Yessir, I do."

"We'll keep her safe, son," John murmured. "Now go on and get that ice on her ankle—maybe it'll still do some good, even if it is a bit late."

"Yessir," Sam told him with a smile as John grabbed the last two towels of ice and headed around the side of the car to tend to Dean. Jessica had shifted around so that her back was against Sam's shoulder and her foot was on Dean's lap, the ice draped over her ankle. John spared a quick second to glance at her, noting the grip she had on Sam's hand and the painful, tight expression on her face as she shut her eyes against the intensity of the cold, which John knew from experience wasn't exactly pleasant. He took a moment to wonder why the boys hadn't just moved her to the back seat before shrugging it off.

_No doubt Sam wants to keep her close—can't say that I blame him._

He made quick, efficient work of packing the ice around Dean's shoulder and immobilizing it, doing his best to ignore Dean's grunts of pain as he helped his oldest son settle back against the seat.

* * *

After three minutes and another argument over who was driving, and John could honestly say he sympathized for Sam, who was going to be stuck riding with a belligerent older brother, whose ill mood was made all the worse by John's order for Sam to drive.

_Nevermind that his shoulder's hurting so bad he can't see straight._

Glancing over at Braden, he wasn't surprised to see him slumped against Aubrey, his eyes tight with pain that the Tylenol just wasn't quite able to alleviate. Aubrey was holding the ice against the swelling on his temple, keeping it in place for her brother so that he didn't have to move more than necessary.

"You alright, son?"

"Yessir," Braden mumbled.

_And somehow, I'm not surprised. The day one of my boys is actually honest with me about the level of pain he's experiencing, I'd probably have a damn heart attack from the shock._

"You and me, we're gonna talk about a few things," he told his youngest son.

"Like what?" Braden asked with wide, guiltless blue eyes aimed in John's direction.

"Nice try, kiddo, but that innocent act wore off about the time you conveniently 'misplaced' the hamster in Dean's bag when you were ten."

_That was back during the great Prank War of '98_, John thought, not so nostalgically, reminded suddenly of Dean's less-than-rational response to finding a hamster in his bag_. Yeah, that didn't end well._

"Dude, it was a harmless prank," Braden began, but John cut him off with a shake of his head.

"Braden, you're the sole reason I had to put an end to prank wars, so that feigned innocence doesn't work on me anymore. But let's not get off the subject. We were discussing exactly what we're gonna talk about later. I was thinking we could start with the fact that you skipped taking a dose of those sleeping pills I paid an arm and a leg for, a dose that _could've_ kept you from sleepwalking to Palo Alto—how about we talk about that?" John said dryly, staring pointedly back at his fourteen-year-old.

"Oh," Braden said softly, and John could practically hear the boy's unspoken "shit" in the much abbreviated response.

"Yeah, 'oh,'" he replied. "But we'll talk about it later—I just wanted to give you a heads-up."

"Shit," Braden mumbled.

"Daddy, are we going to stop soon?" Aubrey interrupted, peering around Braden, her eyes gazing back at him in the dark.

"Yeah, I guess we'd better," John replied, scanning the roadsides for promising motel signs despite the misgivings he was still feeling.

_We need connecting rooms,_ he decided, suddenly loathe to let any of his children out of his sight_. Nevermind that I've spent the past twenty years teaching them how to protect themselves_, he thought with a rueful shake of his head_. Shit. I'm gonna have to blow a credit card and spring for a nicer joint than usual,_ he thought, grabbing his cell phone off the dash as he spotted an exit sign for a Super 8 Motel ahead.

Flipping his phone open, he brought up Sam's number from his 'Received Calls' and pressed 'Send,' holding the phone to his ear impatiently as he waited for Sam to answer.

"_Hello?_" Sam said a second later, shouting over the sound of Dean bitching in the background, about what precisely, John couldn't say.

"We're gonna pull off at the Super 8 up ahead," John said without preamble, never one for long discussion, especially not on the phone.

"_Super 8? Wow, Dad, you're getting classy in your old age_," Sam replied, laughter in his voice.

"Only the best for me and mine," John told him with a smart-aleck grin, caught in a rare moment of humor.

When they pulled into the parking lot at The Super 8 Motel, John went in and got a two-room suite, resigning himself to ditching the credit card when they left town.

Motioning for Sam to follow him, he drove his truck across the parking lot, pulling to a stop in front of their room, Sam pulling the Impala to a somewhat less-than-gentle stop right beside him. Nudging the twins to get them moving, John slid out of the truck and moved toward the Impala where Sam was already climbing out, a familiar, pissed off expression on his face.

"That is the last fucking time I let you drive my car!" Dean was yelling, pain no doubt having shortened his temper considerably. _Boy's probably been a fucking nightmare ever since I put him back in the damn car, _John thought, halfway feeling like he was talking about a five-year-old instead of his twenty-four-year-old. _He's not gonna like what's coming, either,_ he knew as he watched Dean reach for his door handle.

"Dean, stay put," he ordered, noticing Jessica, still inside the car, scooting back towards the driver's side to get out rather than follow Dean out the passenger side like she'd started to do.

"What the hell for?" Dean asked, scowling as he exited the car and stood up, walking around the car to stand face-to-face with his father.

"Well _one_, because I said so. And if that's not enough of a reason for you, how about because I'm taking you to the nearest hospital?"

"Why?!" Dean exploded, and John was hard-pressed to say whether Dean was seriously that deluded or if he was merely exercising his innate Winchester stubbornness.

"Because your shoulder is fucked up, Dean—it's dislocated," John told him, knowing that reasoning with Dean in this sort of mindset was just a lesson in frustration, but deciding to give it a try anyway.

"Yeah, I noticed—it hurts like a bitch," Dean pointed out hotly. "But we don't have to bring the damn hospital into it. _You_ could set it if you'd stop being a damn girl about it and just do it," Dean told him belligerently.

"Yeah. And I could also make it worse. If you'd told me about it right after it happened, I could've taken care of it. As it is now, it's so damn swollen, there's no way in hell. It's gonna hurt like hell to even touch it at this point, so popping it back into place would be sheer torment—and I can tell you right now, I don't have any drugs strong enough to take the edge off."

"I'll be fine," Dean started, but John was done arguing with his oldest son. By this point, Jessica was sitting sideways in the driver's seat, her feet resting on the doorjamb as she watched the proceedings and waited for someone to come help her hobble inside.

"This isn't a discussion, Dean. We're done. Now get your ass back in the car and shut it. I'll be back as soon as I finish helping unload." Hearing Dean tell Jessica to slide over, John called back over his shoulder, "You're riding shotgun, so don't even bother gettin' behind the wheel—leave the girl alone and park your ass in the passenger's seat.

Despite the mumbled cursing, John trusted that Dean wouldn't give him any more lip, so he turned away, glancing at Sam, who was standing near the hood of the car, silently fuming at his brother, who had obviously pushed him just a little farther than he was willing to put up with.

"Sam—help your girlfriend inside and then come back to help unload," he said, tossing Sam the keys before moving around to the back of the truck to grab a couple of bags out of the back. Aubrey joined him a second later, 'Lucy, the Evil Hell-Beast' peeking out from amidst the folds of her hoodie.

_Glad the damn thing's not a guinea pig,_ John thought, shaking his head a bit at the randomness of his thoughts as Aubrey carefully climbed up onto the tailgate and reached in for a bag with one arm. She staggered at the weight a bit, and John reached out to steady her, but she regained her balance, smiling sweetly up at him.

"I got it, Daddy," she told him, and though he could tell the duffel was heavy, she hopped down and hauled it good-naturedly towards the room. The fact that she didn't fall on her rear-end was encouraging, as Aubrey was something of a klutz, a fact that every member of the family had learned painfully in some form or other over the years. That she didn't trip over her own feet on the way was progress.

Inside the two-room suite John had paid for, Braden dropped onto the first bed he came to, and John turned to Sam, who had just laid Jessica down on a second bed.

"Sam, I'm gonna take Dean to get that shoulder of his taken care of. Keep an eye on Braden—he's concussed, and we don't want that to go unwatched," he said as he dropped his back near the door. "Don't forget to lay the salt-lines, and keep an eye on things. Might not hurt to draw a few wards at the door and windows, either. My journal's in my bag if you need it, and Aubrey can find the chalk for you."

"Yessir," Sam told him, and John had to say he was pretty damn surprised that Sam didn't argue. As he turned to leave, Sam cleared his throat hesitantly, and John winced inwardly, hoping that his surprise wasn't about misplaced. "Um, Dad? Before you go…" the twenty-year-old began with chagrin, "uh, Jess and I don't exactly have any clothes to change into, so I was wondering if it was okay if we borrowed a few things—just until we get some of our own. I mean, Jess could fit into a pair of Braden's shorts, I think, and she could sleep in a t-shirt, either yours or Dean's. Would that be alright?"

"Yeah, take what you need. If you get into mine, remember, unzip my bag from the left, and the clean clothes are on the left. I stash the dirty ones on the right side, so don't get those."

"Yeah, I remember," Sam said, offering him a halfhearted smile before John closed the door behind him and headed for the Impala where Dean was petulantly glowering at him from the front seat.

_Of course, out of all of my children, the one that gets hurt more often than not has to be the one that bitches the most about hospital visits. Damn it._

What was left of the night was not looking promising.

* * *

Drugs had always hit Dean hard, which John decided probably contributed to Dean's dislike for them, opiates especially. They usually knocked him out pretty damn fast, which was usually a fucking relief for _everyone _at that point. Unfortunately, they also had the added benefit of making Dean as ill as a hornet.

_Something else to look forward to. Great. _

It was almost 0630 when John parked the car in front of their room, and he was so damn tired that his eyes were burning with fatigue as he walked around the front of the car and opened Dean's door.

"C'mon, son."

Dean, now wonderfully doped up to his eyeballs on painkiller, wordlessly allowed John to help him out, leaning heavily on him as they made their way inside. When John unlocked the door, he pushed it open, stepping carefully over the salt-line, pleased to see that, even drugged, Dean was still vigilant enough to leave the line unbroken.

"Dad?"

The momentary strangeness of hearing Sam's voice calling out to him from the dimly-lit room was quickly followed by a sense of relief he hadn't truly felt in two years. Not since one of his children had left, abandoning the ever watchful protectiveness that John had always kept over them.

"Yeah, it's me," John murmured gruffly, and a second later, he heard more than saw the rustle of sheets being thrown back. And then Sam was there, moving in to take some of Dean's weight.

_Which is a damn relief—little boy's not so little anymore._

"Where're we putting him?"

"Might as well keep to the 'one injured person per bed' maximum and put him in the empty bed in the other room. At least that way he can sleep awhile without being woken up when everyone starts getting up. We can send Aubrey in there with him, since she's small enough and has the added benefit of not being likely to wake him up," Sam said, starting forward towards the door leading into the other room.

"You sure you and your girlfriend don't want the extra room? That's why I got it—thought you two might want some space," John muttered, fighting the sense of awkwardness that hit him suddenly.

"Nah, we're fine in here for now—Jess is already asleep, and I don't want to wake her just to move into the other room. Besides, it's not like we'd be—" Sam paused abruptly, and even in the light of the lamp-lit room, John could see his son turning an embarrassed shade of pink before mumbling a hasty "Nevermind." "But…um…thanks anyway, Dad," Sam added, his tone both awkward and strangely sincere as they gently deposited a drowsy Dean on the left side of the bed in the other room.

They made quick work of getting him settled, the twenty-four-year-old stirring only enough to bitch at them while simultaneously trying haphazardly to help them get his jeans and long-sleeved tee off. As soon as they had managed to lay him down, he awkwardly grabbed for another pillow and dragged it over his head before abruptly going still.

Wordlessly, John and Sam watched him for a long moment before John sighed with a mixture of relief and weariness.

"Finally," John whispered, motioning for Sam to follow him.

"Was he really that bad?" Sam asked, smiling back at John with an amused expression as they went back to the other room.

"Sam, you've been with your brother when he's injured and doped up—he's irritable and bitchy, and none of that's changed in two years. If anything, he's worse," he said, peeling his shirt off and tossing it towards his duffel by the door.

_I'll take care of that in the morning. Well, _later_ in the morning._

"Is he alright?" Sam asked quietly, bringing John's attention back to the present. He couldn't say for sure whether Sam was asking about his brother's his physical condition or his overall well-being, which in John's opinion, were two vastly different things.

_His physical condition is easier to answer…go with it._

"Yeah, just a badly dislocated shoulder. If he'd said something sooner, I probably could've popped it back into place before the swelling got too bad. Stubborn ass," John said, his voice tinged with a mixture of pride and regret.

"Pot, meet Kettle," Sam said with a grin, and John replied with a playful swat to the back of Sam's head before he sat down on the foot of the bed where the twins were sleeping.

"Is Braden doin' alright?" he asked, glancing at the fourteen-year-old before looking up at Sam.

"Yessir. I checked on him about an hour ago. He's been able to answer me when I've questioned him, but I dunno…maybe it's the concussion, but the only times he's moved are when I've woken him. I don't remember him ever being that still when he sleeps."

"He's less likely to sleepwalk or move around if he's woken up every so often during the night. But he's been lucid every time you've woken him?"

"Yes, Dad," Sam told him, his tone enough to tell John that his son was humoring him.

_Yeah, yeah. He knows how to handle a concussion as well as I do…but I worry anyway. _

"Listen, you mind gettin' Aubrey to the other room while I take care of a few things?"

"Uh, sure," Sam said, obviously puzzled but willing to help out this time. While Sam took care of getting Aubrey up long enough to move to the other room, John stepped back to the door, using his knife to peel up the edge of the carpet. Pulling a black Sharpie out of the side pocket of his duffel, he made quick work of sketching a trap there, the lines long since committed to memory.

"Dad, do you need any help?"

"Nah, I got this. Go on to bed, son," John murmured over his shoulder. "Oh, and Sam?"

"Sir?" Sam asked, turning back around to look at his father.

"I expect you to introduce me to your girlfriend properly in the morning," he told him, smiling at Sam's surprised expression even as he flopped into bed next to Braden.

"Sure, Dad," Sam told him with a smile of his own as he turned back towards the other bed where Jessica was nestled under the covers. John stared after him, a bittersweet sensation welling up inside him as he watched his son's large frame slide into bed and curl protectively around the blonde by his side.

_God, I miss you, Mary,_ he thought, that void inside him aching with an intensity he hadn't felt in years. Sure, some nights, he could still remember how she felt, wrapped up in his arms, her body warm against his, but as the years had passed, he'd been able to pretend that it didn't hurt quite so much.

But now, with Jessica's blonde curls laying on the pillow, her resemblance to Mary was bringing a lot of memories to the surface, memories of how things had been _before. _Back before he knew there were things in the dark that he couldn't protect her from, evil things that could tear his heart to shreds in one gut-wrenching moment.

_I miss having that, that sense of happiness, of being with someone who means more than anything else in the world. I miss how simple things were, how happy we all were back then_, he thought. _Back when Mary was still beside me, and Dean used to weasel his way into our bed and wiggle between us so he could press his hands against Mary's stomach on the off-chance that he could feel it if Sam chose that moment to kick. _

_For just a little while, I had everything, and we were happy._

But that life, those moments, had gone up in flames like everything else. And it hurt.

* * *

"Dad?"

With a stifled groan, John blinked his eyes open to see Sam staring down at him.

"What's wrong?" he asked gruffly, pushing away his lingering fatigue to gaze back at Sam with growing alertness.

"Oh…uh, nothing really. Sorry for waking you, but I was thinking I should go out and buy some clothes for me and Jess to change into. I wanted to let you know I was going and ask if I could take your truck, since I really don't wanna wrestle Dean for the keys to the Impala."

"You don't have to—I have 'em," John said, nodding towards the pair of jeans he'd discarded on top of his duffel the night before. "Right front pocket," he mumbled, dragging his hand over his face wearily before sitting up. As Sam went to fetch the keys, Braden started to stir, blinking up at John with tired eyes.

"Headache gone?" John asked him, reaching out and cupping Braden's face in his hand, angling Braden's head so that he could examine the damage left over from Braden's run-in with the doorframe.

"Pretty much," Braden muttered. "Shower," he told John simply, sliding out of bed and slowly making his way into the bathroom, the door shutting behind him with a click.

"Dad?" Sam began softly as John stood and grabbed for his duffel, already rooting through its contents for his journal.

"Yeah?"

"You'll look after her until I get back?"

John paused, turning to see Sam hovering beside the bed where, miraculously, Jessica was still sleeping. Sam stared down at her worriedly before glancing back up at John with something akin to helplessness.

"'Course I will," John told him, glancing down at Jessica's face before the ache in his chest forced him to turn away.

_Haven't even met her properly and, yet, she reminds me of you, Mary. _

After another brief look at her, Sam headed for the door, the keys to the Impala held tightly in his fist.

"See if you can find a hamster cage while you're out, son," John called out softly after him.

_Cause Dean is gonna shit a brick if he finds out that the only thing standing between him and Lucy is a flimsy cardboard box._

"Yeah, okay."

"And Sam?"

"Sir?"

"Don't dawdle. I don't wanna be in one place for too long."

"Yessir," Sam replied, closing the door behind him firmly.

An hour later, Dean and Aubrey were still asleep, John had showered, and Braden had settled back on the bed in an exhausted stupor that John would have found alarming if it wasn't so damn familiar at this point. He was quietly breaking down one of his rifles for a quick inspection when Jessica started to toss and turn, a distressed look on her face.

_Ah shit._

"Sam?!" she called out, jerking awake before John could rise to wake her up, her body jerking abruptly upright . Her eyes met John's, and she stilled, biting her lip nervously as she slowly sat up. The sheet fell to her waist, revealing the t-shirt and boxers she wore, no doubt borrowed off one of the boys last night.

She was obviously feeling a tad awkward, he guessed, caught as she was in front of her boyfriend's father in nothing but borrowed sleepwear. But John's ability to put people at ease in his presence had disappeared roughly twenty-two years ago, so he didn't quite know what to say to make her feel less uncomfortable.

"You alright?" he asked, figuring that would do as well anything. She nodded, dragging a shaky hand through waves of blonde hair, taking deep breaths as she looked around for a familiar face.

"Sam went out to see if he could find the two of you some clothes. He'll be back soon."

"Oh," she said softly, biting her lip again as she fingered the t-shirt she was wearing.

"How's the ankle?"

"Um…hurts. But my foot hasn't fallen off, so I guess that's something." Chuckling, John got up and went to the ice chest that Sam had thoughtfully brought in and filled the night before and fixed up a bag of ice. Wrapping a hand towel around it, he headed towards the bed, grabbing a few pillows from Aubrey's pile by the door.

Wordlessly, Jessica pushed the sheet away, exposing her ankle, which was swollen and no doubt painful. Carefully, John slid a few pillows under it before gently laying the makeshift icepack across her ankle.

"We'll leave the ice on for about twenty, and then we'll get it wrapped."

"Thanks," she told him a second later, shivering a bit as she laid back down, and he moved back towards the table where his rifle was waiting. He was pretty sure he probably should have tried to put her more at ease, but honestly, he didn't really know what else to say.

Fortunately, he didn't have to because Jessica cleared her throat and started talking.

"Um…last night," she began hesitantly, "that…wasn't exactly how I imagined meeting you for the first time, Mr. Winchester."

"No, I don't imagine so," John told her with a grin, admiring her for not beating around the bush or letting the remnants of a nightmare keep her down.

_Looks like the girl's got some spine_, unable to deny that Sam had made a wise decision in choosing this girl_._

"You see," Jessica continued, "I sort of had this crazy idea that one day, Sam would suddenly announce that he wanted me to meet his family and that we would all go out for a nice dinner somewhere."

"Sorry it didn't work out that way."

"Me, too."

He didn't mention that even if the demon _hadn't_ attacked, it probably _still_ would have never happened the way she'd imagined.

"Well, for what it's worth," she went on to say, "my name is Jessica. Jessica Moore."

"John," he replied, reassembling the rifle with one last flick of his wrist. She was quiet, obviously hoping he would say more, and for a split second, John wished he could make things a little easier for her. But his interaction with women these days mostly consisted of ordering another drink or dinner to go. So instead, he stayed silent, and within a moment, Jessica sighed.

"Um…Sam hasn't really told me much about you, I'm afraid," she said softly.

"I'm guessing he hasn't told you _anything_ about me," John said wryly, reaching for a 9mm as he gently laid the rifle back down on the table.

"And why is that?" she asked. "If you don't mind me asking," she added somewhat sheepishly.

"Wouldn't you rather ask Sam?"

"He's pretty closemouthed about the family thing, actually," she muttered.

_Good boy._

Of course, it didn't take an emotional genius to pick up on the irritation in her voice.

_Yeah, I guess keeping us on the down-low didn't exactly win you points with your girlfriend, Sammy-boy._

"Don't take it personally—that's what I taught him to do," John told her, deciding to throw Sam a bone and try to help ease some of Jessica's obvious annoyance.

"Why?"

"My wife was killed by a demon when Sam was six months old," John told her bluntly, fighting to retain a mask of indifference that he sure as hell didn't feel. But it was better than letting her see how that one simple bit of information could still rip his insides to shreds whenever he thought of it.

No, grief that deep was a private thing for a man, and he wasn't about to share it with anyone, much less a virtual stranger.

"That's why we do what we do," he told her impassively, focusing intently on the gun in his hands. "Other people don't understand, though. When the boys were small, it was vital that they kept quiet about the family business, 'cause if anyone found out the truth, they'd have thought I was a nut-job, taken the boys away from me. So they learned early to lie or keep quiet if anyone asked. Sam…well, he took it more to heart as he got older."

"Why is that?"

John sighed, his heart aching in that familiar way it always did when he thought of his son turning his back on them.

"Sam wanted 'normal.' He made it pretty damn clear that he didn't want this life, and it sure as hell wasn't something he wanted anyone to know about."

"Is that why you've never come to see him?" she asked softly.

"Oh, I've come. But I didn't let him see me."

"Why not?" she asked incredulously. "I mean, if you were right there—"

"I didn't think he wanted me to come. We didn't exactly part on friendly terms."

He could still remember how hot the rage had burned in him the night the truth had come out, that Sam had revealed to them that he was leaving for Stanford.

"You fought?"

"You could say that."

_It would be a huge, fucking understatement, but you could say that._

"What did you fight about?" she asked, and John spared a moment to wonder why he was being so uncharacteristically forthcoming with answers before he shrugged and started to reply.

"He wanted to go off to Stanford, and I wanted him to stay," he told her. "Simple as that."

_Not really, but that's as much as I'm willing to—_

"But why didn't you want him to go? I mean, he had a full-ride to _Stanford_."

"Because I couldn't protect him there," John told her sharply. "You think it's easy to look after four kids knowing what's out there, knowing what kinds of _things_ could kill them if given half a chance? Shit like that doesn't just stay away, girl. No, you gotta lay out lines of defense, strategize, keep the right weapons on hand. Here, with the rest of the family, I could keep Sam safe, because even on hunts, we're prepared and the risk is minimized. But there, at Stanford, away from us, it was out of my hands. I've already lost my wife—I'd be damned if I was gonna stand there and lose him, too."

"Except you lost him anyway, didn't you?" she said softly, her voice sympathetic as she stared back at him with something like understanding on her face. "And something came after us, just like you thought."

"Yeah."

"So the thing that attacked us…what was it?"

"Demon."

"What did it want?"

"Not sure. Demons are complicated—their motives aren't always what we would consider logical. And since I can't get any answers out of Dean right now, I can't tell you anymore than that."

"Do you run into demons a lot?"

"Not as often as you might imagine. They don't get topside often—usually have to be summoned, and since they tend to kill whoever's stupid enough to summon them, not too many people are too eager to call 'em up. Most demons _we_ run into are savvy enough to avoid exorcisms most of the time and wise enough to keep their summoners alive and well in case they need them again."

"So…does that mean that the demons you come across tend to be…repeat offenders, demons that you've come up against before?"

"Not always, but frequently."

"That actually explains a lot," Jessica murmured, her answer striking a wrong note with John, who suddenly started getting a bad feeling in his gut.

"What do you mean?"

"Well…the…demon…he—it—knew Dean, talked to him like he'd known him for a long time."

_Oh shit._

"What exactly did it say?"

"Well, I'm not too clear on the specifics, since I was kind of busy freaking out about hanging from the ceiling—"

"Wait, you were hanging from the ceiling?" John asked, his heart pounding in alarm now.

"Yeah, scary, I know. And well, the demon said something about Dean not being what he expected him to be, that Dean had grown…I'm really not sure, Mr. Winchester. Things were happening so fast, and I…I was scared," she admitted.

"Jessica, did you see its eyes?"

"Yessir," she replied, no doubt a bit thrown by what John was sure sounded like a strange as hell question.

"What color were they?" he asked.

_Please say black, please say black…_

"They were a sick-looking yellow."

_Fuck._

"We gotta move," John said, slamming the mag into the 9mm in his hand before reaching for the weapons bag. "Call Sam—tell him to hurry up," he told her, tossing his cell phone into her lap before heading into the other room.

"Aubrey, get up," he said gruffly, reaching down to shake her shoulder until she peered grumpily up at him.

"Daddy, can't I sleep a little longer? Please?"

"No time, baby girl. Shower now or stink—your call," he told her, and with an annoyed huff, Aubrey threw back the covers and slowly trekked off to the shower.

"You've got ten minutes. Make it count!" he called after her before turning to Dean, who was stirring beneath the pillow he'd burrowed under when he'd fallen into bed hours ago.

"Hey."

With a groan, Dean's eyes opened, and he blinked up at John, grimacing as he shifted to sit up.

"Fuck," Dean mumbled under his breath, cradling his injured shoulder as he dropped his feet to the floor.

"Hey, listen, we need to talk."

"About what?" Dean asked warily, eyes narrowing as he stared back at John.

"About what happened last night. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what? That my shoulder was messed up? Dad, we talked about this—we didn't have time to—"

"That's not what I'm talking about. Yellow-eyes, Dean. You knew last night that it was the demon we've been looking for, didn't you?"

All emotion bled from Dean's face, his jaw tightening as he assumed a blank expression that John recognized as one Dean fell back on when things were getting just a little too emotionally charged.

"It spoke to you," John prompted, trying not to sound too demanding, even though everything in him was screaming at him to get some fucking answers.

_C'mon, Dean. Talk to me. This is what I've been looking for for over twenty years._

"Yessir," Dean bit out.

"Well, what did it say?"

"Just the same old shit that demons always spout, Dad," Dean said hotly, coming to his feet abruptly.

"Dean, sit down," he commanded, waiting for the twenty-four-year-old to angrily drop back on the edge of the bed before he sat down beside him and continued, staring down at his hands hanging loosely between his legs before glancing back at Dean. "It knew you, Dean. I need you to talk to me—how did it know you?"

Dean shrugged with his good shoulder and started to ease away, stubbornly avoiding John's gaze. John knew good and well that he was broaching a topic that fell under the category "Things too painful to mention or discuss," but he didn't see any other option.

_Not with Yellow-Eyes suddenly resurfacing again after all these years. I'm sorry, son, but it can't be helped. _

"Dean," he started, laying a hand on Dean's shoulder to still him. "I need you to answer me. If I'm gonna protect this family, I need to know what you know."

He was taking advantage of Dean's deep-seated need to protect his family; he knew it, and he did it anyway, because there was too much at stake to let Dean repress everything the way he usually did.

"I can't," Dean whispered, his eyes betraying the pain he was in despite his significant efforts to keep his distance. For John, it hurt tremendously to hear his strong, proud son hesitating and a step away from regressing back to the stilted speech and silence that characterized a lot of his childhood.

"Yes, you can," John told him firmly, squeezing Dean's shoulder comfortingly, trying to lend his son the strength to talk about something that, in the Winchester family, had never been openly discussed.

Anger won out over the anxiety, and suddenly, Dean was shaking off John's hand, shaking his head vehemently as he stood and began to pace back and forth, obviously agitated.

"I don't… look, it's not gonna fucking change anything," Dean told him angrily, turning rage-filled green eyes on his father.

"Son, I know you don't wanna talk about it, but I…I think we need to. For your sake as much as mine."

Because the truth was, John realized, he should've sat Dean down for this talk twenty years ago. _Maybe if I'd tried to talk to him then, it wouldn't be so damn hard for him now._

Pausing in the midst of his pacing, Dean abruptly slumped against the wall, staring at the floor with a haunted expression, his gaze on something John couldn't see.

"Dean, how much did you see the night your mother was killed?" he asked softly, afraid of what the answer might be even as he asked it. _Sometimes, it's true what they say—ignorance is bliss_. And for twenty years, John had been content to remain ignorant about his son's experience that night. _But I can't afford that ignorance anymore. _We_ can't afford that ignorance. It's time for the truth to come out._

Dean was quiet, staring down at the floor, and this time, John didn't push, his silent presence enough to let Dean know that he was willing to wait him out.

"All of it," Dean said softly, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

"You saw the thing that killed her?"

"No. I watched it kill her."

_Oh fuck._

When Dean had revealed to Aubrey so many years ago that he had watched his mother die, John had foolishly chosen to believe that Dean had merely been telling Aubrey what she need to hear at the time. To find out now that his four-year-old had seen every minute of his mother's agonizing death on the ceiling of their home was devastating.

"Ah, hell, son," John murmured softly, rising to his feet and coming to a stop in front of Dean. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, cupping his hand around the back of Dean's neck, squeezing gently.

"It wouldn't have…what good would it have done? You…things were hard then. And I didn't want to talk about it."

"The demon, did it say anything to you that night? Do you remember?"

"Yessir."

"What did it say, Dean?"

"Said, 'Don't mind me, Dean-o—I'm just here to collect on an old debt,'" Dean murmured, his voice echoing ominously with the weight of words he'd no doubt carried with him for twenty years.

John's mind was still reeling from the information, trying to put it with what he already knew, trying to make sense of it as Dean looked away.

"What is it after?" John asked, frustration gnawing at him.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, glancing back at John with a look of abject despair and helplessness.

_No, dammit! He can't be sure of that, can't be,_ John thought, desperately hoping he was right.

"How do you know?" he asked, dreading the answer even as he waited impatiently for it.

"It said so. Last night. Told me to look after Sammy, that he needed him."

"Shit," John ground out. "Did he say what for?"

"Do we have to fucking talk about this right now?" Dean asked, his own frustration starting to manifest as he resumed his pacing. "I can't do this anymore," Dean said, his jaw clenching.

"Dean, I know you don't wanna talk about this, but it's pretty damn important," he told his oldest, stepping into Dean's path to put an abrupt halt to his pacing. "This is big, bigger I think than the both of us. So I'm gonna ask you again, and I want an answer: _Did he say what for?_"

"Dammit, Dad! It just said it had a plan for Sammy, alright?! That's it! That's all I fucking know," Dean told him, breathing heavily as he fought to get a hold of himself. "'m done" he murmured, his voice deceptively quiet as he took a step back from John. "I'm hittin' the shower," he said, reaching down with one arm to haul his duffel up onto the bed.

_I'm sorry. But we can't afford to let this go. Not now, not with the demon this close._

"Think hard about this, son—did the demon say what kind of plan?"

"Dammit, I don't know!" Dean yelled, slinging the duffel towards the door in a sudden outpouring of rage that was quickly followed up by everything in his reach. John surged forward, grabbing Dean from behind and pulling him into a tight hold, mindful of his shoulder even as he held Dean against him.

"Alright, enough" he murmured, maintaining his grip despite Dean's struggle to free himself. "Settle down now, son. Just settle," he continued, knowing that despite his age, Dean needed, just this once, for someone to make everything okay. After a long moment of struggling, Dean finally sagged, his head dropping back against John's shoulder as he took a ragged breath.

"How'm I 'sposed to keep Sammy safe from somethin' like this? I…I don't know what to do, and—"

"'s alright, Dean. We're gonna keep Sam safe—nothing's gonna happen to him. Not on our watch."

Recognizing the rare moment for what it was, John hugged Dean to him for just a second before stepping away, turning him so that he could look Dean in the eye.

"You and me—we're gonna take care of this, son. You hear me?"

"Yessir," Dean said quietly, wearily dropping back onto the bed.

Jessica chose that moment to come into the room, John's cell phone in her hand as she stood hesitantly in the doorway.

"Um…sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Forget about it. What did you need?"

"Sam said he's on his way."

"Good. As soon as he gets here, get dressed and start helping load up. D'you need to call your folks, let 'em know you're alright?"

Jessica looked down, biting her lip before shaking her head.

"No sir. My parents died a couple of years ago. There's no one but Sam."

_Makes things easier, I guess_, he thought, feeling sort of bad about the thought the second it occurred to him. But practicality almost always won out over sentimentality, so he shrugged it off, only realizing a second later that he hadn't said anything back to her.

_Time for a tactical withdrawal._

"Sorry about your folks," he mumbled, brushing past her to pound at the bathroom door. "Aubrey, time's up. Dean needs to get in there—move your ass!"

"I'm comin'!" Aubrey shouted back. "Just another minute!"

"No, you've had plenty of time. Now hurry up!" he returned, shaking his head at her with a snort. "Dean, I'm gonna start loading up what I can. As soon as Aubrey's out, hit the shower. Can you get the immobilizer off by yourself?"

"How the hell should I know?" Dean retorted, staring grumpily at the contraption his shoulder and arm were currently strapped into.

"Holler if you need help. Don't screw around too long trying to do it yourself—if you see you can't do it in a few minutes, ask for help. We don't have time to waste."

_Because I've got this feeling that things are in motion now, things I don't understand. Bad shit is starting to happen, and I'm not sure I can stop it. _

_And something tells me that things are only going to get worse._

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! If I forgot to reply to anyone below, let me know--I'll totally message you back, I promise!

**Beccatdemon13**: Thanks for the compliment—I'm glad you found my story, too! I can't tell you exactly what's going on with Braden yet, but you'll get a lot of it in the next chapter—if everything goes according to plan, that is. Sometimes, the story seems to have a mind of its own, so it's hard to say. A Braden chapter is up next, so stay tuned! Thanks for the review!

**jormaduran**: I'm really glad to hear that you're enjoying the story—I know what you mean about reading a fic and hurrying on to the next chapter rather than reviewing—I'm guilty of that myself (LOL)! Anyways, thanks for letting me know what you think—it's always nice to hear that my Winchesters are realistic, especially the extra siblings! The way I figure it, the best characters are those who, like real people, have both strengths _and_ weaknesses—it makes for more well-rounded characters. Okay, that and the fact that exploiting said weaknesses is so much fun! Anyways, thanks for reviewing!

**achillies-eel**: Your reviews were so funny! I look forward to hearing more from you—the running commentary doesn't bother me a bit! Besides, it increases my review count—lol!

**DrifterFanatic92**: So despite me forcing you to wait forever for this chapter, did you like it? Now that Aubrey has gotten a few more fans, I won't hesitate as much to use her POV, but it'll likely be awhile, since this one was a John chapter, and the next one is slated to be Braden's. But Braden rocks, too, right? Right? Anyways, hope you enjoyed this one—thanks for reviewing!

**Phoenix07**: So yeah, you were right about John giving Dean a bit of a hard time about the shoulder—hope it lived up to your expectations! You know, if this was a different story, he'd probably get totally reamed out about it…maybe in my LJ version. LOL! Regardless, you can always count on the fact that if anyone is going to have trouble, it's gonna be Dean. I'm for constant Dean whumpage, so it'll constantly make it into the story. Anyways, thanks for the review!!

**Sammyluvr83**: Glad you loved it! Hope you liked this one as well!

**Bunty**: I'm so glad you liked the over-caffeinated Dean and his hamster obsession—it's tricky to write those scenes because it's a fine line between believably funny and absolute crack! And it's a good thing that you don't mind waiting, since I made you all wait a month. Sorry about that! Anyways, hope it was worth it!

**rholou**: Thanks for being so forgiving about the long wait! I've definitely got a long turnover rate for chapters. It sucks that it takes me so long to generate each chapter. Some are easier than others—I think this one was trickier because it's been so long since I've written a John chapter that I had to sort of re-find his voice. And then, so much had to happen that even though I've been pretty consistently working on it, it still took over a month to write. Anyways, thanks for hanging in there!

**stoic81**: Okay, so Jessica is pretty hard to write, but I think I've got a better grasp on her now, so let me know what you thought of her in this chapter. I was really wanting to get the whole 'backbone' thing in there—I didn't want her to be a weak, damsel-in-distress kind of character, but I didn't want her unrealistically being able to accept everything all at once. Oh, and I'm glad you like the hamster thing—it amuses me to write it! My beta likes it, too, so I try to slip mention of it in whenever I can. And I totally know what you mean about squeezing the hamster until it's eyeballs sort of pop out at you—it's freaky as hell, isn't it? Oh, and about that discipline fic—I tweaked a scene in chapter 3 to add a spanking scene—it's on my LJ page if you want to take a look at it. I'll try to add a revised chapter to it when I can.

**PRACK**: Hey, you! We haven't talked in forever!! We should remedy that situation ASAP! I really ought to mail you those postcards, too…anyways, thanks for the review! Glad you liked caffeinated Dean—I have just too much fun with those scenes! As for Jess, yeah, I couldn't bring myself to kill her. She'll probably make it through the whole fic intact…well, relatively speaking. Anyways, a Braden chapter is up next, so keep an eye open for it! Thanks for reviewing!

**eggylaine**: Yeah, you know, I always look for fics where Jess lives—there aren't that many, unfortunately. I thought about letting her die, but then I just couldn't do it—there are too many fun opportunities for her to interact with the Winchester bunch to pass up. Anyways, thanks for reviewing—let me know what you thought of the Sam and John talk.

**zuimar**: Aww, you read the last chapter twice—that's awesome! I do that, too, sometimes actually. It kills me that you read the end first—LOL! Oh, and expect to see more hurtDean action coming up—I torment the hell out of him, I really do. Enough that my beta has mentioned it…haha! Anyways, I crammed a ton of family interaction in this chapter—between John and Sam, John and Jessica, and John and Dean—so let me know what you thought, okay?!

**saberivojo**: You know, I think the hamster has more fans than anyone! LOL! My beta enjoys the hamster scenes as well, so I try to slip one in whenever I can. Dean is just so funny when he's being irrational, isn't he? Anyways, thanks for the review!!


	32. Business as Usual

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Extra special kudos to my beta, mimishell—she wins the prize for quickest turn-around on a chapter, because she totally beta-ed this chapter within just a couple of hours of receiving it and got it right back to me!

A/N 2: Okay, so I don't usually leave more than one A/N, but I feel like I should probably point out that this is another one of those 'transitional, bridge' chapters. Not plot-heavy, but it's got some fun grumpy Dean in it, so it should still be fun, at least, even if it's somewhat lacking in the plot department. Anyways, I'll shut up now, and let you get to it.

Chapter 32: Business as Usual

Braden was dozing, his mind drifting aimlessly in the ether between sleep and awake, when someone grabbed his foot and shook it gently.

"C'mon, up and at 'em, son," John said as Bray opened his eyes to see his father already moving away. Biting back a groan, Braden sat up, rubbing at his eyes before massaging his temple. Looking around, he saw Aubrey dragging their duffels toward the door while Sam and Jess were loading a new set of duffels with clothes for the two of them. Tthere was no sign of Dean, which left the shower as the most likely place for the oldest of the Winchester offspring.

_I don't feel right_, he decided as he sat there and tried to convince his body to move. _Feels weird, like I'm disconnected or somethin'. Head hurts._

Yeah, his head ached, but he knew with a sickening certainty that it wasn't just due to the mild concussion he'd gotten the day before. The freaky voice in his head had been silent for days, but Braden didn't doubt for a minute that it had something to do with him sleepwalking to Palo Alto and for what had happened last night, though the latter was something he still hadn't quite figured out yet.

_Why'd you do it, you son of a bitch? What are you trying to do?_

He was hard-pressed to say which frightened him more—getting an answer or silence. But as it was, the voice said nothing. He could sense it though, hovering at the edge of his consciousness, and he knew it wouldn't be long before it tried to reassert its control again.

Truth be told, if he felt more normal, he'd probably be pretty freakin' worried by now. At the moment, though, he was too tired to really worry over the acknowledgment of just how strange he felt at that moment and too out-of-sorts to think about what had happened last night yet.

_Pretty sure I'll be worried as hell later, though. But that's okay. Later is good. _

Sometimes, it was just a hell of a lot easier to stay unfocused. But it wouldn't last, he knew.

With a sigh, he dragged himself off the bed and shoved his feet into his tennis shoes before heading over to help Aubrey. Startled, she turned when he came up behind her, stepping towards him only to trip over the bags at her feet and fall into him. He caught her before she face-planted, years of similar incidents serving him in good stead as he righted her.

"Oops, thanks," she murmured as she untangled herself from the duffel straps she'd managed to get twisted up in, embarrassment turning her face a bright shade of pink. He responded with a grunt as he reached down and lifted up the duffels, shouldering them while Aubrey followed him outside with a new hamster cage held in her arms.

"New cage?" he asked her as she deposited it and Lucy on the front seat of their father's GMC.

"Yeah, Sam stopped off at a pet place somewhere and picked it up when he went out to get some clothes for him and Jessica."

"Braden?"

At the sound of their father's voice, Braden turned to see John standing at the back of the truck surreptitiously placing weapons into the hidden compartment there.

"Sir?"

"Tell Sam to start bringing the other weapons out, and tell him to do it before Dean gets out of the shower and tries to do it himself."

"Yessir."

He and Aubrey simultaneously turned around and went back in, Braden relaying the message since Aubrey still wasn't ready to forgive Sam yet and was doing her best to ignore most verbal communication with their older brother.

"Hey, who are you two riding with?" Sam asked as he grabbed the last of the weapons duffels and threw it over his shoulder with practiced ease.

Braden turned to Aubrey with pleading eyes, silently hoping that she'd agree to ride with Sam and Dean, even though she was pissed at Sam.

_Please, Aub. Dad's just biding his time before he bitches me out about not taking the damn sleeping pill. I don't wanna talk about it with him. I mean, how the crap do I explain to him that I didn't want to take the stupid pill because the voice in my head might take me over? C'mon, I know you don't wanna ride with Sam, but at least he won't tear me a new one about the freakin' sleeping pill._

Apparently, she read him loud and clear, because although she frowned at him, she sighed and nodded.

"We'll ride with you," Braden told Sam, shooting his sister a grateful look as Sam nodded and went outside with his load.

And that was that. They _should_ have been on the road a few minutes later. Instead, he, Aubrey, and Jessica were sitting on the curb in front of the Impala watching Dean completely lose his shit.

_Oh well. At least it's something to do_, he thought with a shrug, grateful to have something else to focus on besides his headache and the weird shit that was currently his life.

"No, dammit!" Dean was yelling at Sam. "I only let you drive yesterday because I was trying not to give Dad a hard time by bitching at him. But I'm fine now, and I'm not lettin' you drive my baby again!"

"Dean, you're hopped up on painkiller—you can't drive," Sam reasoned, and Braden could tell that Sam didn't quite get it yet that reasoning with Dean in his present mood just wasn't going to happen.

"Let me tell you something, _College Boy_—I haven't taken a damn thing this morning—if anything, I've got painkiller hangover from the one Dad forced on me last night. But even if I had taken one, I'll have you know that I've driven my baby hopped up on a lot worse than fucking painkiller," Dean pointed out hotly, to which John raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?" he said, his brow lowering menacingly as he crossed his arms over his chest and leveled 'the Look' at Dean.

"I was talking about the _caffeine_, Dad," Dean said quickly, verbally backpedaling, and Braden was hard-pressed to say whether Dean was lying or not.

_On the one hand, he sounds sincere, and would he really risk wrecking Baby by driving while he was high on something? On the other hand, it's pretty hard to tell when Dean's lying—he's had a lot of experience. And he's a party kind of guy…stands to reason he might experiment with something…course, D takes the whole hunter/soldier thing pretty seriously, so maybe not. 'sides, even if he _did _try something hardcore, he'd never risk his car by driving afterwards. _

"Caffeine affects me a helluva lot more than these stupid painkillers—that's all I'm saying," Dean continued. "I drove all the way to…wherever the hell it was that we were going…and I was way more messed up than this."

_Dude, I don't think that was quite the argument you were going for._

And that, more than anything, suggested that Dean wasn't exactly lucid—if he was thinking rationally, he wouldn't have slipped up so clumsily.

"Son, you're not exactly making a good case for yourself. The caffeine fucked you up—you said it yourself. And maybe the painkillers aren't having quite as dramatic an effect, but they're still messin' with your head—your reaction time is shit right now, you're irritable as hell, and you know as well as I do that you'll crash within an hour of taking it."

"Well then I won't fucking take it, then!" Dean argued. "I didn't even want 'em to begin with—_you're _the one that insisted on getting 'em."

"Because you need 'em—you can't tell me that shoulder doesn't hurt like hell."

"It's nothing I can't handle," Dean said stubbornly, which is pretty much what Braden expected him to say. "I'll be fine," he told John before turning to face Sam. "Now, gimme my fucking keys, Sam."

"Dude, look—"

"Dean," John started, but Dean wasn't listening as he faced off against Sam.

"No. You fucking stole them this morning while I was asleep—don't think I won't kick your ass for that later, too. Now I want 'em back and I want 'em back _now_."

"No," Sam told him calmly, shaking his head. "Sorry, bro, but it's not gonna happen."

_Bad mistake, Sam. Patronizing him doesn't go over well on a _good _day, much less _today_. _

"You know what's not gonna happen? You keeping my keys and telling me I can't drive my car—that shit ain't happenin', Sam."

"Look, I'm telling you now that you're an idiot if you think I'm gonna let you drive while you're hurting," Sam retorted, finally beginning to lose his composure as Dean's stubborn refusal to listen to reason began to wear on him.

"Let me?! You don't _let me_ do anything! And you _especially_ don't tell me I can't drive my own fucking car! Now give me the damn keys!"

"Dean, you're being completely unreasonable! This is ridiculous!"

"You know what? You're absolutely right. It _is_ ridiculous," Dean said with biting sarcasm. "I don't know why I didn't see it before—why the hell am I wasting my time arguing with you over who's driving _my _car?!"

"Dad, you can jump in any time now," Sam said, obviously coming to the conclusion that Dean wasn't really levelheaded enough to reason with at this point.

_Took you long enough to figure it out. _

With a sigh, John straightened from where he'd been leaning against the side of his truck.

"Dean, we don't have time for this anymore. You're taking a pain pill and you're riding shotgun."

"What?!"

"You heard me," John said, shooting Sam a warning look when Sam showed signs of giving Dean a triumphant look.

"This is bullshit! It's _my_ car, my shoulder, and my fucking problem! It's nobody else's damn business, and it _sure_ _as hell_ isn't Sam's business! I'm telling you I'm fine, and you're gonna take _his_ word over mine that I'm not fit to drive? He's been gone for two fucking years, Dad! How the hell would he know a damn thing?!"

_Ouch,_ Braden thought, casting a look at Sam just in time to see the hurt on Sam's face, even as Dean bit down on whatever else he might've said, obviously realizing that he'd gone a bit too far.

John stepped forward, grabbing Dean by his good arm and steering him towards the passenger's side of the Impala.

"Get in and settle down. We're done, do you understand?"

Dean was silent, his jaw clenched with barely controlled anger as John pushed him into the seat, and Braden had the thought that if there'd been something breakable within Dean's reach—something that wasn't part of his precious car—it surely would've been thrown or smashed by now.

"I'm gonna go get you something to drink from the vending machine and you're gonna take one of those pills," John went on, making sure Dean was clear of the car door before shutting it firmly and turning to Sam.

"Maybe he should ride with you, Dad," Sam said uneasily. "He's pissed off now, and you know what's he like—he's gonna be a major pain in the ass the whole trip."

"Yeah, I know—and I'm sorry for that. But getting him to ride with me is a fight I don't wanna have with him right now. You gotta pick and choose your battles, son, and that's what I'm doing. He'll settle soon enough."

_Until then, we'll _all_ have to suffer. Great._

"Well at least grab him some junk food while you're at the vending machines," Sam grumbled. "Maybe the sugar will put him in a better mood."

"Yeah, we can hope. Anybody else want anything?" John asked, looking to each one of them questioningly.

"Nah, I'm fine," Sam told him.

"Bray? Aubrey?"

"We're good," Aubrey replied, answering for them both as they stood.

"Jessica?"

"Oh, I'm fine, Mr. Winchester," Jessica said, looking slightly ill at ease.

_Yeah, awkward, isn't it? Welcome to the family, where we air all our dirty laundry in public._

As John disappeared around the corner to find the vending machine, Sam turned to Jessica.

"Do you want to ride up front with me and Dean, or would you rather ride in the back with the twins?"

"Um…I think I'll ride in the back. If that's okay with you guys?" she added, casting a questioning look at Braden and Aubrey. Braden shrugged and moved towards the car, letting Aubrey answer for the both of them.

"Yeah, whatever," Aubrey said finally.

"Bray, one of you needs to sit in the middle so Jess can sit on the outside—she needs to have room to prop her ankle up—is that cool?"

"Yeah, whatever," Braden replied, looking at Aubrey in time to catch the look she was sending back to him.

_Guess I'll be in the middle then,_ he thought, deciphering the look for what it was. By the time their dad got back, they were all buckled in, Braden in the middle with Jessica's ankle propped up in his lap on one of the many pillows that Aubrey had collected in the back seat.

Dean grudgingly swallowed the pain pill John held out for him, taking a swig from the bottle of water before passing the bottle back to Braden with a stern look, tossing the package of Dramamine at him pointedly. Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, Braden didn't argue, simply popping half of a Dramamine before tossing the plastic bottle of water back into the front seat.

In the front seat, Dean was tearing open one of many small packages of Oreos with his teeth as he meaningfully ignored Sam.

"Dean, look, man," Sam began as he started the car.

"We're not talking about this, Sam."

"I just wanted to tell you—"

"No. Now shut the hell up."

And that was that. For a few minutes, it was quiet, and Braden found himself with a few seconds to actually take it all in.

It was weird, he decided a moment later, sitting between two chicks in the backseat of the Impala. Sure, he sat next to Aubrey all the time, but this was different.

For one thing, he was used to having the empty middle seat between them. And then there was the addition of Jessica. She was nice enough, he supposed, but it was just odd having her there. And that she had opted to sit in the back with him and Aubrey instead of up front with Sam and Dean was something he still couldn't quite figure out.

'_Course, maybe it was to get some distance from Dean's bitching,_ he speculated as Dean began to chew Sam out for a turn that was _apparently_ taken just a little too sharply for Dean's liking. That was hardly surprising, either. Dean didn't like letting someone else drive his car, and to top that off, he'd been bitchy since he got up.

Braden was pretty sure the irritability was about more than just the pain pills and the injury.

_Something went down between Dean and Dad this morning, something heavy. _

And it was enough to have put Dean in a more sour mood than the drugs could account for.

"Dammit, Dean, could you just chill out and let me drive?!" Sam exclaimed a minute later as Dean fussed at him for another imagined slight that Braden had managed to miss.

"Sure," Dean retorted hotly, "if you could fucking drive the car the right way!"

"I'm not hurting the damn car!"

"You're grinding the gears every damn time you shift!"

"Are they always like this?" Jessica asked Braden and Aubrey softly as the three of them watched the arguing continue in the front seat.

"Yes," they replied simultaneously, even as Dean and Sam paid no attention to their audience.

"No, I'm not," Sam was arguing. "You're high on painkillers—you're imagining things. Why don't you relax and take a nap already?"

"Take a nap? Are you fucking kidding me? I take a nap and the next thing I know, I'm gonna have to replace half the engine after you fucking destroy it with your lame-ass driving! So no, I don't think I'll be taking a damn nap, Sam!"

"Well, you know what, Dean? Dad told _me_ to drive, so if you're gonna bitch about it, take it up with him. Until then, you need to fucking relax. You know maybe if you'd chill out, I could concentrate," Sam pointed out.

"Fine," Dean bit out, and Braden waited, knowing well enough that Dean wouldn't just settle back without a fuss. "Where're my M&Ms? I want something to eat."

"Dude, you just ate Oreos."

"What's your point, Sam? You gonna bitch about that, too? Stealing my car not enough for you?"

"Nevermind," Sam said with a roll of his eyes, grabbing a bag of M&Ms off the dash and dropping them in Dean's lap. "Hey, pass me some of those cookies, would you?" he asked lightly, nodding towards the package of Oreos resting in the floorboard. With a grimace, Dean leaned forward and picked up the Oreos, tossing them back at Sam before ripping into the M&Ms.

"Five bucks says Dean already ate all the filling out of 'em," Aubrey whispered in Braden's ear with a grin.

"No deal," Braden whispered back, knowing that the odds weren't in his favor if he bet against her. Dean was entirely too predictable.

"Dammit, Dean!" Sam hollered a second later.

_Yahtzee._

"What the hell are you yellin' about now?" Dean yelled back.

"You ate the middle out of these and then put the outsides back in the package! Who the hell does that? You're like a damn five-year-old!"

"Hey, I didn't see you payin' for 'em—Dad bought 'em for _me_, and if I wanna eat the inside out of 'em, then I will. If you don't like it, then buy your own damn cookies," Dean told him petulantly.

"Fine," Sam bit out, throwing the package back at Dean with his classic bitch-face. Leaning forward, he turned the radio on, twisting the dial until he came to a station he could apparently tolerate. Braden knew within half a second that it wasn't one that _Dean_ could tolerate.

"Oh hell no," Dean snapped as one of the latest top ten pop hits began to filter through the speakers.

"Dude, driver picks the music—"

"Shotgun kicks driver's ass if he doesn't change the fucking station," Dean finished. "You know what, nevermind—I'll change it myself," he said, leaning forward to do just that. "I might have to let you drive, but there is no way in hell that I'm gonna listen to your emo, pop shit."

"Dean, that's a double-standard!" Sam argued. "You can't have one set of rules for when _you_ drive and another set for when everyone else drives!"

"Sure I can. It's my car—I can do whatever the hell I want," Dean retorted with a smug expression.

"Okay, you know what?" Aubrey interrupted before Sam could reply. "You guys are gettin' on my nerves," she told them matter-of-factly. "We're not even half-an-hour down the road and you're already making the trip so unbelievably miserable that I can't take it anymore."

"Drama queen," Dean told her, cocking his eyebrow in just a way that he was practically daring her to argue.

"Not going there, D—you know I don't play that game," she said, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared back at him with a pissy expression that could've put Sam to shame.

"Kill-joy."

"Dude, seriously," Aubrey said exasperatedly, throwing her hands up with a screech of annoyance.

"Fine. If you're gonna bitch about it," Dean said snidely. But Braden could tell Dean was sufficiently beginning to mellow.

_It's funny how that works—they can drive each other crazy, but still manage to calm each other down when they're pissed off or upset. Weird._

Dean's pain pill started to kick in about that time, and he grew quiet then, leaving room for actual thought which Braden wasn't too sure he wanted to engage in at this point. Not with all the shit that had been happening to him lately. Unfortunately, the strange sense of detachment he'd felt earlier was beginning to fade, and Braden knew that all too soon, he'd have to think about everything that had happened to him in the last few days.

Have to think about what it meant having a disembodied voice in his head, a voice that didn't seem to mind taking control of him.

_Think of something else._

With a sigh, he rubbed at his forehead, wincing when his fingers brushed the bruising near his temple. His head still hurt.

_Concussions are a bitch._

But deep down, he worried that his headache wasn't simply due to the concussion. Because he'd had headaches before, usually right before another major sleepwalking episode.

_Please don't let it be that. Not again,_ he prayed. _As if sleepwalking all the way from Palo Alto wasn't bad enough, I had to go and freakin' do it again last night. And all I got was a vague sense of panic, an adrenaline rush, a concussion…_

_And I don't remember a thing. _

It scared him, not knowing what had happened, not knowing what he'd done. And if he'd been afraid to sleep before, he was doubly afraid now. Because the truth was, he didn't know what to do anymore.

"So, where are we going?" Jessica asked suddenly, breaking through the silent worry that was beginning to eat away at him in earnest.

"We're going to stay with Bobby," Sam said quietly. "He's a friend of Dad's—hell, he practically helped raise us. We go way back."

"And we're going there why?"

"Because Uncle Bobby has more wards against the demonic than just about anybody, including the Roman Catholic Church. Besides that, he's got a huge library with practically every known occult reference. Dad likes to sift through there every so often to see if he can find anything more about what killed Mom."

"Oh. Well, while we're on the subject…can these demons attack during the daylight?"

"Well, they _can_," Sam answered, "but they usually don't."

"Why not?"

"Because it's easier for them to hide what they are in darkness," Dean broke in. "But don't go thinking that makes you safe during the day—demons are some heavy shit, and they're not something you should underestimate. Most of 'em are capable of throwing you around without even laying a hand on you—think dark side of the Force kinda thing—but their big specialty is fucking you up without actually touching you. They get inside your head and figure out what'll hurt you the most, and then—"

"Can we change the subject?" Aubrey interrupted, her voice charged with a tension Braden recognized.

"Yeah, sorry," Dean said softly.

"Aubrey doesn't like to talk about demons," Braden told Jessica in way of explanation.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jessica said, casting an apologetic look at Aubrey.

"You didn't know," Braden said with a shrug, wondering why girls always apologized for things that weren't even their fault.

"Bray and Aub lost their mom to a demon when they were eight," Sam told her, likely to make up for the lack of explanation on Braden's part. "It wasn't the same kind of demon that killed my mom—it was one called a Minion. They're soul-stealers—"

"Shut up, Sam!" Aubrey bit out angrily, her fingers suddenly tight on Braden's arm, her nails digging into his skin with the force of her anger.

"We don't have to talk about it—she just needed to know," Sam said apologetically.

"No, she didn't! It's nobody's business, and we don't wanna talk about it anymore, okay? So just drop it already!"

"Aubrey," Sam began, but Dean beat him to the punch this time, effectively putting an end to what might have turned ugly pretty fast.

"Okay, you know what? Everyone just shut up," he growled.

"Dude, what the hell?" Sam asked incredulously.

"No. Just shut up. Everybody's gonna just sit back and shut the hell up because I'm tired of it. You two are done, you hear me?"

_Considering D's the one that's been bitching for most of the trip, that's ironic as hell,_ Braden decided, even as Aubrey opened her mouth to argue.

"Sam started it," Aubrey pointed out, and Dean shifted in his seat, leveling a stern glare on her.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yeah," she muttered.

"Good. Then shut it," Dean said crossly, dropping his head back against the seat with a tired sigh.

As Aubrey turned away to stare moodily out the window, Jessica shifted beside Braden and he looked over to see her pulling a notepad out of a small bag Sam had brought back from his shopping trip. Peering over her shoulder, he saw her add to a list of questions she was no doubt going to grill Sam about later.

**1. Why did the demon let us go?**

**2. How do we keep it from coming back?**

**3. What did Braden draw around the door, and how does it tie into everything else?**

**4. How many different types of demon are there?**

**5. Why did the demon attack us in the first place?**

**6. Is it going to keep coming after us?**

**7. How does the demon that attacked us differ from the minion thing that killed the twins' mom?**

She closed it up a second later, and as she started to drop it back in the bag, Braden nudged her, holding his hand out for the notepad. Without a word, she passed it to him, and uncapping a fine-tipped Sharpie pen that he kept in his pocket, he set about answering the questions, not even sure exactly why he was doing it even as he began.

**1. Outmaneuvered—it couldn't get past the door to come after us again.**

**2. We don't. Pray. Hope the wards against it are strong enough.**

**3. Ward that it couldn't cross. Who the hell knows?**

**4. Too many to name. Upper level and lower level are pretty good classifications, though—Yellow-Eyes is upper level.**

**5. Not sure. It's come after our family before—same demon that killed Dean and Sam's mom—but beyond that, not sure. Dad and Dean might know more, but I can't confirm that.  
Don't ask them. They don't like to talk about it.**

**6. Yes.**

**7. Demons like Yellow Eyes have plans. Minions want souls more than anything—kinda like crossroads demons, except they don't make deals, they just ****take**** the souls. Maybe the  
bodies if they're bored. **

Kinda wishing she had more questions, Braden closed her notepad and handed it back to her. She opened it up and read through his answer before taking her pen and adding to the list.

**8. Is there no way to find out what the demon really wants?**

Grabbing it back from her, he flipped to a new page, figuring it would be easier to treat it like an online chat session than a Q&A thing.

**8. Short of asking the demon directly, no, not really. And you couldn't trust anything it said anyway.**

**Why not?** she asked back.

**Because demons lie.**

**Oh. Too bad there's no other way to get answers.**

_Well, maybe spirit sources,_ he thought, and suddenly, it hit him.

_I've been going about this all wrong! I've been trying so hard to figure out what this thing wants that I never even thought about bypassing the literary sources and going straight to more firsthand sources._

"Hey, Jessy, can you lean down and grab a sketchpad from the green backpack down there in the floorboard?" he asked her casually.

"Uh, sure," she told him, rummaging around until she pulled out his sketchpad, which she handed to him with a flourish and a smile.

"Braden, don't even think about it," Dean mumbled sleepily from the front seat.

"What?"

"Writin' in the car, man. Hell no. You'll puke before we get five miles down the road. Put it away."

"I took the Dramamine, D. I'll be fine," he pointed out. "I just need to write a few things down, that's it."

_Okay, that and figure out exactly what I'll need to contact some spirits. But that's it, honest. 's all I can do in the car with limited resources anyway…_

"Braden, just put it up so Dean will sleep already," Sam told him, but Braden ignored him, staring back at Dean to see if he'd go for it. But it clearly wasn't gonna happen.

"No. You are _not_ going to puke all over my interior. Put it up before I have to come back there and kick your ass."

With a sigh, he furtively passed it to Aubrey, who gazed back at him questioningly.

_Wait_, he mouthed, and she silently nodded, sliding the sketchpad under the pillow on her lap. Without a word, Braden watched his oldest brother, waiting for him to fall asleep.

_C'mon, hurry up and fall asleep already. I gotta start trying to figure out what to do so I can find out what the hell is happening to me. And I gotta be ready by the time we get to Bobby's. _

Because Braden wasn't planning to sleep anymore until he had some answers, some assurance that the voice in his head couldn't hijack his body again while he was sleeping.

* * *

Staying awake in a moving car was a lot harder than Braden had imagined it would be. Figuring out a plan was even harder. In other words, the trip was hellaciously long and exhausting.

But by the time they pulled into Bobby's, he had at least put together a list of materials that might be useful.

_Now I just need access to some of Bobby's books—I need to find the right ritual. _

It was risky, what he was planning to do, he knew, but he didn't really have any other options at this point. Because sleep-deprivation was a bitch.

He carefully climbed over Aubrey and hopped out of the car, hurrying around to the trunk to collect his bag even as Bobby came outside to greet them. Grabbing his duffel as soon as Sam opened the trunk, he bee-lined it for the house, only to freeze as a familiar voice called his name.

"Braden."

"Sir?" he asked, turning around to face his father with all the enthusiasm of a man facing the firing squad.

"You take your stuff upstairs and then wait for me—I'll be up in a bit. You and me have a few things to discuss."

_Oh shit._

"Did you hear what I said?" John asked when Braden didn't make any move toward the stairs.

"Yessir," Braden mumbled, catching Aubrey's worried expression before he turned and headed inside, halfheartedly nodding to Bobby as he passed him.

The anticipation of what was to come was the worst part, Braden decided ten minutes later. Of course, he changed his mind shortly thereafter when his dad was tearing him a new one. Uncomfortable, to say the least. Actually, 'uncomfortable' didn't begin to describe it—'downright painful' was more like it.

When he was finally allowed to wander downstairs, he peered into the living room to see Aubrey curled up next to Dean on the couch, the two of them drowsily watching something on TV. Sam was showing Jessica around, apparently, and he could see Dad in the kitchen talking to Bobby. Aubrey looked up when she spotted him in the doorway, and a quick motion of his head had her hopping up and coming towards him.

He led the way into Bobby's 'study,' a room so crammed with books that there was hardly anything resembling workspace left.

"I need you to help me find anything Bobby has on contacting spirits."

"Contacting spirits? What are you talking about? D' you think the voice you're hearing is a spirit?"

"I dunno. But I'm thinking even if it isn't, maybe the spirit world can give us some answers."

"Bray, are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, messing around with that sort of thing is—"

"Aubrey! I don't know what else to do! I don't have a lot of options here, and I can't stay awake much longer, okay?! So are you gonna help me or not?!"

"Well yeah," she said after a second. "Of course I am. I just, you know, wanted to make sure you knew the risks involved, that's all," she told him with a slight curling of her lips.

He gave her a little smile then, glad she was helping him, because the closer they got to dark, the more he was starting to freak. The headache was still there, lurking at the edges of his consciousness as surely as the voice was, he was sure of it.

Several hours later, he had already discarded several rituals as too dangerous and discarded a few others as not exactly what he needed. And he was growing more and more frustrated and scared. In all honesty, he really felt close to crying.

"Aubby, what if we can't find one?" he asked softly, glancing down at the book in lap, its pages blurring as he started down at it. He felt her warm weight settle next to him, and she dropped a comforting arm over his shoulder.

"It's okay, Bray—we'll find one. If we can't find anything here, then maybe Pastor Jim has something."

"But I don't know if I can wait that long. I'm really tired," he said tightly, trying to speak past the lump in his throat. "And if I fall asleep tonight...what if it takes me over again?"

"Maybe it won't, though. I mean, it seems to have reasons for it whenever it does. We're at Bobby's—what could possibly happen here that would make it take over?"

"I dunno," he mumbled. "'s not like anything it does makes much sense. But it knows stuff, Aubby—what if it's a demon or somethin'?"

"No, I don't think it is," she replied after a moment of contemplation. "Think about it—you drank the holy water that Bobby tested on us just fine. And _Christo_—see, you didn't flinch."

"Then what the hell is it?"

"Hey, you two," John said, appearing in the doorway before she could answer. "It's late. You need to get ready for bed."

"Okay," Aubrey said for both of them, catching his eye with an apologetic expression.

_Later. We'll come back down_, she told him with her eyes. He nodded almost imperceptibly, and as one, they stood and headed for the stairs to get changed for bed. Except Braden had no intention of going to bed or falling asleep.

He emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, wearing a loose pair of athletic shorts and a white t-shirt about the time Aubrey opened one of the bedroom doors wearing a pair of shorts that were only barely visible under one of Dean's t-shirts. They were heading back downstairs to make a show of laying out their sleeping bags in the middle of the empty dining room floor when their dad appeared at the bottom of the stairs. They paused a few steps from the bottom, just out of reach as John stared back at them.

"Braden, you need to come with me and take one of your sleeping pills—I don't want you wandering off tonight."

_Oh no. Shit, no. Please._

"Well, you know, Dad, I'm really tired—I-I think I could sleep without it. Couldn't I just…skip it tonight?" he asked shakily.

"No—we've tried that before, and it didn't work. We're not risking it—I'm too tired to go chasing after you cross-country again."

"But—"

"Enough," John said with a dark frown. "Quit stalling. We've already discussed this. You're taking it, and we're not gonna argue about it anymore. Now you put your ass in gear and get down here now, or I'm coming after you. And I can _promise_ you, if I have to come get you, you're not gonna like what happens."

And that's when Braden totally lost his shit.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Hope you all liked the chapter!

**rholou:** Thank goodness you're able to keep following the story despite the delays between chapters—otherwise, you'd be screwed, and I'd be minus a loyal fan! LOL! I'm working on Chapter 33 already—I've gotten about 5 pages already typed, so hopefully that means it won't be as long a delay on the next posting.

**acaigirl:** Thanks for the lovely compliment—I tend to see things playing out like a movie, so I try to channel that into the words. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

**achillies-eel:** I feel quite certain you picked up on a certain scene in this chapter that leaves room to the imagination as far as discipline goes. LOL! Um…I'll see what I can do about the Prank Wars one-shot…LOL! I'm not actually very devious in that regard, so I'd need help coming up with pranks. Tell you what: if you can give me the prank ideas, I'll write your one-shot on LJ. Anyways, thanks for reviewing—I always love hearing from you!

**irishgirl9:** Yeah, I always liked the idea that Dean saw more than they let on in the show as far as Mary's death goes. I mean, with Mary screaming the way she did and John yelling, it just seems reasonable that Dean would've jumped out of bed a lot sooner to see what was wrong. Anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for reviewing!

**eggylaine:** So, as you can probably tell, Sam and John are doing okay so far—it's Dean that Sam's clashing with right now. But only because he feels like crap! Don't worry—Dean and Sam will be fine, because I just love the brotherly bond thing. Glad you liked John and Sam's talk—it's hard to write 'guy-bonding' scenes, since the Winchester men aren't exactly talkative about their emotions. Hope you liked the chapter—thanks for reviewing!

**saberivojo:** So I definitely gave you more grumpy Dean in this chapter—hope you got some great laughs out of it. Let me know what you thought of it!!

**7kstar:** In answer to your question about Jess remaining alive, the answer is yes. Mostly because I really like fics where Jess stays alive and with Sam. And I like gruff, caring John, too—I try to put those bits in when I can! As to who all will survive the demon…if you'd really like to know, PM me. Otherwise, I don't want to spoil it for you.

**zuimar:** Glad I was able to surprise you with that last update. I've been forgetting to update my profile page lately—my bad. But I totally remembered this time around, so you might have noticed that I changed it on the fifth…or maybe not. Anyways…you really had me laughing when I read your review—it's so funny that you read the end of the chapters first! Okay, so I didn't have a ton of Dean whumpage in this chapter, but I did have grumpy Dean? Will that do until I can get to the whumping in Chapter 33?

**Bunty:** You know, the reason behind the POV change-ups between chapters is really quite simple: I couldn't limit myself to one POV. It was too hard to stick with just one Winchester, since I like exploring their motivations, which I can't do so well with only one POV. Glad you like it—the whole idea of it being "panoramic" is really nice (and cool!)! I hope you enjoyed more of grumpy Dean getting on Sam's nerves—there was certainly quite a bit of it here!

**courtneyun:** Hi! Thanks for the compliments—you say such lovely things! Sorry I kept you waiting for so long for the next chapter! I've already gotten started on Chapter 33, so I'm hoping it won't take as long this go round! Thanks for reviewing!

**R2M:** It's okay that you stopped reviewing after every chapter—that would've taken eternity!! LOL! I'm glad you're enjoying the fic! Question: You mentioned in your Chapter 17 review that you wished Aubrey would grow a little stronger…now that you've read to Chapter 31, do you think she did? Anyways, hope you enjoyed the update! Thanks for sending all of the reviews!


	33. The Best of Intentions

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy!

Chapter 33: The Best of Intentions

In all her life, Aubrey had never seen her brother freak out before, not even when their mom had been killed while they hid in the next room. No, he'd always been a picture of calm composure, never getting riled up over anything. But here he was, suddenly backing away from their dad, his eyes panic-stricken as he shook his head.

"No, I can't!"

"Daddy, can't you just let—" Aubrey began, but John cut her off, too tired to listen anymore.

"Stay out of it, Aubrey. I'm _not_ going to play this game," John said darkly. "Braden, get down here _now_," said sternly.

"I'm not gonna take the fucking pill! No!" he shouted, trying to run past John, but the older man reacted quickly, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him to an abrupt stop as he reeled him back in.

"No! Let go!" Braden screamed, suddenly fighting back with a desperation that was almost frightening. He pushed at John's hand, catching their father by surprise when he simultaneously jerked away. He wrenched himself back and went hurtling headlong towards the front door, though what he intended to do when he got there, Aubrey had no idea.

But John caught him around the waist, dragging him backwards even as Braden shouted and tried to kick free.

"Braden, stop it!" John yelled, shifting just in time to avoid a kick to his left knee.

But Aubrey could tell her brother was beyond listening now, yelling wordlessly as John fought to maintain his grip on him. Behind her, she felt Dean suddenly appear, his hand falling on her shoulder, and she looked up to see him gazing at the scene before them with dismay.

"What the hell happened?" he asked softly, not looking away from the scene, even as Bobby, Sam, and Jessica appeared in the doorway of the living room.

"Daddy wanted him to take one of those sleeping pills. And I dunno, he just flipped out," she whispered, watching with silent pain as their father turned Braden, wrapping his arms around the hysterical fourteen-year-old from behind and pinning Braden's wrists against the boy's chest.

"Let go! Let go!" Braden was screaming, but John's grip was unrelenting, and there was no way Braden could break it.

"What's wrong with him, D?" Aubrey asked, suddenly wanting to cry herself as she watched her unflappable twin falling apart in front of her.

"I don't know," Dean murmured, even as John dragged Braden down, forcing him to his knees on the floor as John maintained his hold, his arms still wrapped securely around the resistant teenager as the screaming gave way to sobbing.

"Sam, take Jessica upstairs," John ordered. "She doesn't need to see this."

Aubrey thought for a minute that Sam would argue, but without a word, he nodded, tugging Jessica by the hand behind him as they headed upstairs.

_This isn't right. Braden's the strong one—he can't fall apart—I don't know what to do._

"Shh, it's alright," John murmured in Braden's hair, holding him close as he rocked Braden in his arms, trying to calm him. Aubrey wasn't sure how long they stood there, watching, waiting for Braden to still. It could have been minutes or hours before Braden spoke.

"Please don't make me," he sobbed brokenly. "Please don't! I'll do anything you want if you don't make me, I swear!" he begged. "I'll…I'll r-run…or c-clean the g-guns…"

"Shhhhh," he said, laying a kiss against Braden's temple. "Just settle, son—it's alright. Dean?"

"Sir?" Dean asked, stepping past Aubrey.

"Go get your brother some water." He paused, suddenly mouthing something at Dean that Aubrey couldn't quite catch, but before she could ask, Dean was nodding and moving past her towards the kitchen.

She stepped forward, dropping to her knees beside her brother and her father and wrapping her hands around her father's bicep, hugging his arm. Resting her head against his shoulder, she gazed wordlessly at her twin before reaching out to lay a hand on him comfortingly.

Braden resisted the water at first, but after some coaxing from their father, he drank it before dropping his head back against John's shoulder.

"C'mon, boy—let's get you to bed, huh?"

"N-no! Please, I-I don't wanna sleep—I can't! Daddy, please don't make me!" Braden cried, working himself up all over again even as John maneuvered the two of them to their feet.

"John, why don't you take him to my room? Getting him into a sleeping bag just ain't gonna work. Just use my bed."

"What are you gonna do?"

"I gotta chair in my study that'll do just fine."

"Bobby, I can't ask you to do that," John said ruefully, tightening his grip on Braden as he tried to slip out of John's grip.

"It's nothin'—I sleep in it all the time, don't worry about it. Go on ahead now—sheets are fresh."

"No!" Braden shrieked, his voice piercing as he grew more and more desperate. Aubrey followed along helplessly, not really sure what else to do.

In Bobby's room, John backed onto the bed, maintaining his restraining hold on the panic-stricken teenager as he pulled Braden along with him. Aubrey stood in the doorway hesitantly, not really sure that her father wanted her to come in, but unable to leave her brother.

_Not like this. _

"Shh, it's alright, son," John was whispering, dropping his cheek onto Braden's sweat-soaked hair. "I've gotcha—I'm right here. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. Shh…"

She fought the tears that were filling her eyes, not wanting to fall apart now, not with things so messed up. Because she knew well enough that of the two of them, Braden was the strong one, the twin that kept it all together.

_I'm the one that falls apart all the time. It shouldn't be him. 'Cause I don't know what to do. _

Finally, Braden began to slow, eventually slumping against John with a shuddering sob.

"You ready to sleep, now, son?" John asked softly, loosening his hold and shifting so that Braden was cradled against his side.

But Braden didn't answer, hiding his face in John's side, and even from the doorway, Aubrey could see him shaking.

"Aubby. Where's Aubby?"" Braden whimpered, and with a quick start, she straightened and moved towards the bed, settling beside him so that he was framed protectively between the two of them.

"Right here," she told him, staring over his shoulder at her father with something close to devastation.

"'m scared, I d-don't wanna s-sleep," Braden said brokenly, and Aubrey placed her hand on his back.

"It's okay, Bray—me and Daddy won't let anything happen to you," she whispered to him as he huddled against their dad.

"'m tired," he mumbled. "Don't wanna sleep."

"I know you don't," John told him. "But you can't keep doing this to yourself, son—you need some sleep."

"You won't leave me, will you?" Braden whispered, burrowing as close to their father as he could.

"No, I won't leave you," John murmured into his hair, slowly reclining against the pillows, Braden's limp form slipping down with him. "I'll be right here."

"Stay, Daddy, okay?" he finally mumbled, his speech slurred with exhaustion and with a last, final attempt to jerk himself awake, he finally succumbed, slumping against John bonelessly, his fingers still gripping his father's shirt.

"Aubrey?"

"Sir?"

"So did it work?" Dean broke in suddenly, appearing in the doorway before John could continue.

"Did what work?" Aubrey asked, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously.

"Yeah, it worked," John replied, smoothing Braden's sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead.

"So he didn't suspect anything?"

"Suspect _what_?" Aubrey asked exasperatedly.

"I crushed up one of those pills in the water I gave him," Dean answered absently, sending Aubrey's eyebrows skyward.

"You drugged him?! How could you do that to him?!"

"First of all, Dad told me to do it. And second…Aubrey, you saw him," Dean told her bluntly, "He was losing it."

"But—"

"Aubrey, focus here," John interrupted. "Has Braden told you anything?"

"Anything about what?"

"About what's got him so scared to sleep."

"You know how he is, Daddy—he doesn't talk about stuff much," she hedged.

_I don't wanna lie to you, Daddy—I can't tell you. He told me not to tell you._

"You're telling me he hasn't told you _anything_?"

"Pretty much."

"I call bullshit," Dean said, straightening as his face hardened.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Aubrey asked, a hint of a bite in her tone.

"It means that you're real close to lying through your ass, right now. I've seen you and Braden these past couple of weeks—you're hiding something."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Aubrey retorted, even though her mind was screaming, _Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap._

"The hell I don't!"

"Enough, both of you," John interrupted, cutting them off, which was pretty impressive since he wasn't talking much louder than a whisper, she decided. "Aubrey, do you know something or not?"

"Nothing substantial," she replied evenly.

_There. That's not a lie. Maybe he'll go for it…please go for it._

"But you do know something?"

"Not enough to matter much."

"What's he scared of, Aubrey?"

_Crap. He's not going for it._

"Daddy," she said with a sigh, "I can't tell you."

"Why the hell not?"

"Braden made me promise. I can't break my promise to him, Daddy, I just can't," she told him apologetically.

"Aubrey, what the hell's wrong with you?" Dean blurted out. "Look at him—he's completely fucked up! And you're worried about breaking your promise not to tell?! That's—"

"Dean," John interrupted. "You're not helping. Go take a pain pill and go to bed."

"I don't need a—"

"_Go take a pain pill and go to bed._"

With an angry snarl, Dean charged out of the room, passing Bobby, who had come to stand in the doorway.

"You gonna tell me anything helpful?" John asked her wearily as Bobby stepped further into the room.

"Daddy, I'm sorry," she told him softly, shrugging helplessly. "I wish I could."

"Fine. Go on downstairs and get to bed."

"But I—"

"I'm not gonna tell you again. Go get your sleeping bag laid out, or tell your brother to pull the couch out and you can share with him—either way, you're going. And shut the door on your way out," he added.

_Darn it. You never make things easy, do you, Daddy?_

With a scowl, she dropped off the bed and followed Dean's path out of the room, shutting the door almost all the way before crouching down beside it to listen.

"Everything alright?" she heard Bobby ask a second later.

"No," John murmured, glancing down at Braden before gazing back up at Bobby with a worried expression. "Bobby, you saw him—he's fucking terrified. And I don't know how to fix it."

_Neither do we, Daddy_.

"Have you _talked_ to him about it, John?"

"No, you know how he is, Bobby—he plays things close to his chest. Hell, half the time, if it wasn't for Aubrey, I'd probably never know when shit's going on with him. And this time, she's not talkin' either."

"Well, do ya' think it's nightmares?"

"Maybe," John said, and Aubrey could hear the weary helplessness in her father's voice as he spoke.

"Well, if it is, there're things that can help prevent nightmares, ease sleep," Bobby offered, eliciting a snort out of John.

"What, like dream-catchers? That's bullshit, Bobby."

"No, smart-ass," Bobby retorted. "I'm talking plants—there are quite a few that can be dried or burned to keep nightmares away. Betony is good for that, I hear."

"Oh. You have any?"

"Not that I know of. I don't usually keep sleep aids in my supply cabinet. But I know someone in town who could probably help us out."

"It's not a witch is it?" John asked suspiciously, "Because you know how I feel about witches, Bobby."

"Ah, don't get your panties in a twist, Winchester—he's an herbalist. He can probably tell us what we need and what to do with it."

"Yeah, okay. We can try that, I guess."

"Alright, we'll head out after breakfast in the morning," Bobby announced. "It'll be alright, Johnny," he added after a moment. "We'll figure this out. And in the meantime, we can give those herbs a shot."

_But it won't work, _she thought with growing despair_. Because it's not nightmares_.

There was too much pressure, too much pressure to be there for her twin, too much pressure to make things better. And it was starting to weigh so much more than she could handle.

She turned away, starting down the stairs with a heavy heart, wishing things were different.

_I wish you were here, Mama. I don't know what to do anymore. _

* * *

After a restless night beside Dean on the couch, Aubrey woke up to find Braden crouched down on the floor beside the creaky sofa-bed mattress. Without a word, Aubrey slid off her side of the couch, glancing back to make sure Dean was still asleep, his face buried under his pillow, before following Braden out of the room.

"You okay?" she asked, pulling him to a stop in the foyer so she could look him in the eye.

"Well I kinda feel like shit, but 's nothin' new."

"That's not really what I meant, Bray."

"Oh. What did you mean, then?" Braden asked her, sounding honestly confused as he gazed back at her with an open expression.

"I just meant…well…you were really upset last night."

"Was I?"

"Um, _yeah_," she told him sarcastically. "Are you saying you don't remember?" she asked incredulously.

"Maybe," he replied enigmatically.

"Crap, Braden—what's the last thing you remember?"

"Hell, Aubrey, I dunno," he said with an exasperated sigh. "Look, forget all that—c'mon, we got work to do," he told her, tossing an empty backpack into her hands as he led the way to Bobby's study. She watched him go for a split second, trying to decide whether to push the issue or not before deciding to let him get away with the evasion this time.

But only because she wasn't sure she really wanted to know the answer.

"So what's with the backpacks?" she asked, hurrying to catch up with him.

"We can't research here—too many people asking too many questions, and I don't want Dad all over my ass about it. Here, grab some books," he said, thrusting a pile at her to shove into her backpack.

"Well, where are we gonna go?"

"Dude, Bobby's got a junkyard out back—there's plenty of space. We'll go out there."

"Out there? Bray, it's cold out there!"

"So take a blanket—you'll be alright."

_That is just so typical,_ she thought with an annoyed frown. _No one appreciates my loathing of cold weather. Why can't Daddy's friends live in warm places? How come we can't ever go to Florida or Hawaii, even? _

She considered bringing this up to their dad when it suddenly occurred to her that _her father_ probably wanted to talk to _Braden. _About last night.

"You know Daddy's gonna wanna talk to you," she told him bluntly, watching to see what his reaction would be.

"About what?"

"I was thinking of your major freak-out," Aubrey said dryly, "but if you had something else in mind, I'm sure Daddy wouldn't mind talking about that, too."

"Aubrey, did you tell him something last night?" he asked darkly, his eyes narrowing on her suspiciously as he dropped the bag he was holding to stare at her.

"No, of course not!"

"You mean it?"

"Yes, Braden!" she replied indignantly. "I didn't tell him anything—and he wasn't exactly happy about it, either! So why don't you get off my back already?" she asked, suddenly and inexplicably angry that he didn't trust her.

"Okay, okay. 'm sorry," Braden told her, gracing her with a half-smile before reaching down to pick up the backpack.

"BREAKFAST!" The sound of Bobby's gruff voice reverberating through the house was a familiar one after years of visits with the older man. Bobby knew well enough that John Winchester couldn't cook worth crap, and Dean was usually too worn out by the time they'd arrived on Bobby's doorstep to fix food, so the other hunter usually made it a habit to make breakfast when they stayed with him. "Y'ALL GET YOUR ASSES OUTTA BED AND GET DOWN HERE!"

"Um, Bray…"

"Yeah, let's eat first," he said, shoving his backpack into a corner before grabbing hers and doing the same.

The two of them hurried into the kitchen, arriving just seconds before Dean trailed in, dropping into a chair with a groggy, irritable expression on his face. John showed up a moment later, dragging a hand over his face as he fought off the last vestiges of sleep.

"You Winchesters look like hell in the mornings," Bobby commented, and Aubrey had to agree with him as she gazed around the table. Braden had circles under his eyes and his hair was sticking up almost as bad as Dean's was, though Dean's was always worse since he slept with a pillow over his head. Their dad looked a little worse for wear, too, and Aubrey knew without a doubt that her hair probably looked like a rat's nest.

"You don't exactly look daisy-fresh either, Singer," John said crankily, and Aubrey smiled, even as she glanced back at the door to see if Sam and Jessica were coming. It was a Winchester rule that when visiting, good manners were required, and that meant waiting until everyone was seated before eating.

Most of the time, good manners weren't really that big a deal—they did their best to use them _anyway_. But not being able to eat when you were hungry because their dad insisted they be polite was not fun.

"Dude, if Sammy and his girlfriend don't get their asses down here in the next three seconds, I'm startin' without 'em," Dean said, eyeing the plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of him.

"Hey, sorry," Sam said, hurrying in right as Dean was reaching for his fork and John was opening his mouth to protest. "Jess isn't dressed yet—she said to just go ahead."

"Seriously?" Dean asked, his tone more than enough to convey his disbelief that someone would willingly delay eating for something as unimportant as being dressed.

"Women are like that, Dean," John replied, and Aubrey looked up to see a bittersweet expression cross over her father's face.

"Was Mom?" Sam asked, his tone cautious as he waited to see how John would react to mention of his wife.

"Yeah. Drove me crazy. But she was worth the wait every time," John replied, his soft-spoken answer having Aubrey wonder if her own mother had been the same way.

_I don't remember._

"Whose turn is it?" John asked gruffly, changing the subject as he stared around the table at each of them. Immediately, it turned into a game of pointing fingers and names being shouted before John silenced it with a sharp, "Hey!" "Aubrey, you're the neutral party here—who's turn is it to say the blessing?"

"Yours, Daddy," she said with a playful smile, giggling when he scowled. But John Winchester was nothing if not 'stick-to-his-guns-fair,' so with a sigh, he bowed his head, the rest of the table's occupants following suit.

"Lord, bless this food. Thanks, amen."

Aubrey smiled, amused as always by her father's cut-to-the-chase simplified blessings, which she knew were favored by her brothers, since short and sweet got them to the food a whole lot quicker.

"Dad…do you think Yellow-Eyes will come after Jessica again?" Sam asked as he took a bite of his breakfast.

_He did _not _just bring up demons at the table right in front of me. _

"What?" John asked, his eyes going stormy all of a sudden.

"Jess told me it was him. Dad—"

"I don't wanna talk about demons," Aubrey broke in, glaring at her older brother, "and I definitely don't wanna talk about them at breakfast."

"Aubrey, this is important," Sam replied, but Aubrey shook her head defiantly.

"Well you can talk about it with Daddy later—I don't want you ruining my breakfast—"

"You're _both_ ruining my breakfast," Dean interrupted with a scowl for both of them. "You're giving me a fucking headache. Knock it off."

"Dean. Watch it," John said in a warning tone, Bobby chuckling as Dean subsided with a dark scowl and shoveled in another bite of food. "What' so funny, Singer?" John asked, with a narrow-eyed gaze aimed at the older man.

"You Winchesters sure do brighten up a room, don't'cha?" Bobby asked, a smart-aleck smile piercing his grizzled face. "Never a dull moment with you all."

"Yeah, well, what can I say? We try," John retorted with a grin of his own. "We're just a ray of sunshine piercing your gloom, Bobby." Aubrey grinned, taking another bite of her breakfast as everyone settled into a peaceful silence.

"Braden," John said a few minutes later, "I need to talk to you after breakfast."

"Okay. But if it's about something that happened last night, then I probably can't help you much," Braden said evenly as he calmly bit into a piece of bacon.

"And why is that?"

"Because I don't really remember much of it. A vague sense of panic, drinking some water…that's about it," he said absently, and Aubrey was hard-pressed to say if Braden was being completely honest.

"You're telling me you don't remember any more than _that_?" John asked incredulously, no doubt gearing up for an interrogation the likes of which hadn't been seen since the Great Shotgun Shell Incident of '98.

_Oooh, change the subject._

"Daddy, did _my_ mama take a long time to get ready for stuff, too?" Aubrey asked, smiling back at her father as she waited for an answer.

"Uh…well…sweetheart," he began slowly, his hesitation suddenly giving her a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. "I don't…I don't know what to tell you…I didn't really know your mother for very long."

"Why not?"

"Well…I met your mother when I was working on a hunt at the old plantation house where she was working as a tour guide. I was only in town for a couple of weeks."

Her eyes dropped to her plate, staring down at it with unseeing eyes as an uncomfortable silence settled over the table.

"You only knew Mama for a couple of _weeks_?" she asked with quiet dismay.

_How did I not know that? I mean, I knew Daddy didn't stick around for very long, but…I thought he at least _knew_ Mama. Shouldn't I have known that? How did I not know?_

"Yeah."

"So…you didn't even love her a little. And me and Bray…we were just mistakes, then, weren't we? And that's why you didn't know about us, or ever come to see us when we were real little."

"You weren't planned, if that's what you're asking—but that doesn't make you mistakes, baby," he said, planting his elbows on the table and leaning forward. "I may not have known your mother that long, but I knew her well enough to know that she would _never_ have thought of you two that way. She loved you. And I love you, and you are _not_ a mistake, you hear me?"

"Yessir," she said dejectedly, pushing her plate of mostly uneaten food away as hurt gnawed at her.

_It shouldn't even matter—it's not like I didn't know that Daddy never loved Mama like he loves Mama-Mary. _

But still, for some reason it hurt more than she could say. She'd sort of shoved it aside for a long time, choosing not to even remotely acknowledge the issue—she was a Winchester, after all, and a champion at ignoring things too painful to consider. But the older she got, the more it started to tickle at the edges of her mind, to really seem to matter that her father hadn't loved her mother, that he didn't seem to really know her at all.

"Aub, I shouldn't have brought it up—I'm sorry," Sam told her apologetically.

"Just forget it," she mumbled. "It's just girl-drama."

_That's what Dean would probably say anyway. _

That wasn't exactly fair, she knew, because Dean tried. He didn't always succeed, but he honestly tried to be sensitive to what he'd termed her 'girl-drama,' but lately…lately, Aubrey just felt more and more alone. Because the truth was, being the only girl in the Winchester family was hard, and it wasn't getting any easier.

"I'm gonna go shower. Thanks for breakfast, Uncle Bobby."

"What the fu—?" Dean started to say as she headed for the door, but John cut him off with what sounded to Aubrey like a swift kick under the table. "But, she was fine," Dean argued, "and then all of a sudden, she was all—"

"Dean, _enough_."

_But he's right. I was fine, and then I wasn't. _

And for the life of her, she couldn't say why.

* * *

She didn't really make it to the shower. Jessica was still in there anyway. Flopping down on Bobby's bed, she stared down at the floor, fighting back tears that she didn't even really understand, her hand reaching up to grip a ring of her mother's, which she wore on a chain around her neck.

"You okay, Aub?"

She looked up to see Sam standing hesitantly in the doorway, obviously unsure about his reception.

_Can't say that I blame him all that much, since I've been mostly ignoring him. When I wasn't arguing with him. Everything's all messed up._

"You know, Sam, maybe you're the lucky one after all. You lost your mom before you really knew her. And you can't miss what you never had."

"I think we all got screwed in the Mom department, Aub," he said softly, stepping inside and coming to sit beside her on the bed. "But what brought that on? Is it because I brought up _my _mom earlier?"

"I dunno. Maybe. I guess I just never realized before…"

"Realized what?"

"That Mama didn't mean anything to Daddy. That she was just a good lay," she said bitterly.

"Hey, don't say that," Sam said, shaking his head as he pulled her close for a hug. "She was more than that."

"You don't know that, Sam," she murmured. "You never even met her, not really, and…Daddy didn't even know her," she pointed out, her voice trailing off disappointedly.

"Maybe all that's true, but you have to look at the evidence, Aubrey—Dad knew her well enough to…you know…hook up. He doesn't do that with just any woman, you know. Dad—he's picky about women, so the fact that he chose your mom means there must've been something really special about her. He didn't have to know what her favorite color was or how long it took her to get ready—that's all superficial stuff, Aub. The only thing you really have to know about a person is his or her heart. And I know Dad's not exactly Mr. Sensitive, but I think he saw something in your mom, something that told him all he really needed to know."

"You really think so?"

"Yeah, I do…" he said, letting the silence settle between them for a few minutes before he hesitantly spoke. "Aub, something tells me there's more to this than just your mom. What's _really_ bothering you?"

"It kinda feels like everything. Braden is…well, you saw what happened last night…and I can't fix it, Sam, I can't. And…"

"And what?"

"Sam? Why's everything gotta be so hard?"

"It's been my experience that that's just life, Aub. And hormones," he said with a shrug. "If it makes you feel any better, we've _all_ put Dad through the wringer with the whole puberty thing."

"Ugh, Sam, don't say _puberty_! That sounds so gross! And you're my _brother_, so it's even worse!"

"Sorry," he said with a grin. "But what I'm saying is, it's rough when you hit your age—nothing makes much sense, and Dad's ornery enough to make it even harder. And you're the first girl, so you're uncharted territory for the old man—he's bound to flounder a bit."

"Yeah, well it sucks," she said brokenly, angry at the tears that were starting to fall down her face.

"I know. When I was your age, I was so full of piss and vinegar that it's a wonder Dad didn't kill me before I turned eighteen. I was angry as hell, and most of the time, I couldn't have told you why. And I know how hard it is not to have one of your parents when you want more than anything for someone to be there, to make things better. But you know what?"

"What?" she asked, looking up at him dubiously.

"We don't have moms, sure, but we got way more than a lot of other people do—we've got Dean, and Braden, and…Dad. It still sucks not having a mom around, and yeah, we have our rough spots—but we're doing all right, Aub."

""Are we? 'Cause last time I checked, we weren't doin' so hot."

"We're still a family—" he began but she looked at him, her eyes dark with accusation.

"You left."

"I never wanted it to be that way. I just wanted to go to school—I never wanted to stay gone forever. And I'm sorry if it hurt you. But me being gone…that didn't change the fact that you're still my little sister, and I love you. You hear me?"

"Yeah," she said, leaning into his shoulder, inhaling the scent that remained uniquely 'Sam,' a mixture of the same Old Spice that Dean wore, old books, and that fabric softener with the bear on the front that Dean hated so much.

"I'm sorry I was so bitchy earlier," she murmured into his shirtsleeve, and Sam snorted.

"So we're good now?"

"Uh-huh," she mumbled. "I'm glad you're back."

"Yeah I just wish it was under better circumstances."

"You sad about your apartment?"

"Well,you know…it was home. For awhile anyway."

"What are ya'll gonna do?"

"I dunno. Jess and I haven't really talked about it."

"Talked about what?" Jessica asked, coming into the room with a smile, fully dressed and toweling her blonde curls dry.

"I'll tell you later," Sam said easily, squeezing Aubrey's shoulder comfortingly as he looked up at his girlfriend.

"Aubby?" Braden appeared in the doorway behind Jessica, his eyes silently asking if she was okay. She nodded, holding Sam tightly one more time before standing up.

"Thanks, Sam," she murmured.

"You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, I think so."

_For now at least. _

* * *

_This blows_, Aubrey thought tiredly, discarding the book she had been searching through and grabbing another from the rapidly dwindling pile. With their dad and Bobby gone somewhere—to the plant-guy, Aubrey suspected—Aubrey and Braden had been free to disappear into the junkyard without too many questions.

"Bray, it's freezing out here," she grumbled, shivering as they sat on the blanket Braden had laid across the ground.

Of _course_, it was freezing outside. While it was still a bit too early for snow, it was certainly cold enough for it, in Aubrey's opinion.

_I hate the cold,_ she said, pulling a blanket around her legs a little tighter. It didn't seem to bother Braden a bit, she noticed, frowning when he didn't bother to look up from what he was doing. Then again, Braden didn't much notice _anything_ when he got intensely focused on something.

_Lucky for us that Sam is too busy with Jessica to notice that Bray's acting weird, and Dean is zoning on the couch in a pleasant drug-induced fog. _

Neither one of them had noticed her and Braden taking a pile of books out of Bobby's study.

_Of course, at this rate, we're gonna have to go filch more soon—we're running out of books here._

Her eye caught on a diagram and she paused, slowing down to read with a growing sense of excitement.

_Maybe this will work!_

"Bray, what about this one?" Aubrey asked, sliding an open book across the blanket where they were sitting. Braden lifted the book onto his lap and bent his head over it, his mouth silently moving in time with the words. She watched him, biting her lip as she waited to see if it would work. Because only Braden knew what he was looking for exactly.

"Aubby," Braden said, looking up at her suddenly with a strange look in his eye. "I think this'll work," he whispered.

"Do you think you can do it?"

"Yeah, I think so," Braden muttered, his eyes scanning the ritual again as she looked on.

"Where are we gonna get all the stuff to do it with?"

"Uncle Bobby probably has everything we need," Braden told her absently.

"So you're gonna, what, steal everything from Uncle Bobby?"

"No—we're just gonna _liberate_ some stuff. We can pay him back," he said reasonably.

"With what? We don't have any money."

"So go bum some off D, then."

"How?!"

"Just bat your eyes at him like you always do—you know he'll cave. He'll bitch about it first, but he'll give you the money."

She sighed, standing up to brush her jeans off, shivering as the cold hit her.

"So when are we gonna do this?" she asked him, waiting while he consulted the ritual again.

"Dammit!" he scowled, his jaw clenching as he stared down at the book with his eyes strangely bright.

"What? What is it? What's wrong?"

"We hafta wait for the new moon…next one's not for another week," he said, his voice thick with disappointment.

"It'll be okay, Bray," she told him, biting her lip as she flopped back down on the blanket beside him. His head dropped, and she felt like crying herself. Because as much as she wanted to help her twin, there was nothing she could do to make things better. "But at least that gives us time to gather up the rest of the stuff we'll need."

"Yeah, I guess. But Dad's gonna want me to sleep tonight…you know he'll try to get me to take one of those stupid pills."

"Maybe you should just take one," she offered, hating the guilt she was feeling over not telling him the truth about Dean slipping the pill into his drink the night before.

"Aubby, I can't—we don't know what could happen. If I take that pill and fall asleep, then what's to say that it couldn't take me over again? I don't wanna risk it—I won't."

"Maybe the drugs would keep it away," she said with a shrug.

_It seemed to last night…_

"Maybe. Or maybe not. Look, just forget about it—let's go see what Uncle Bobby has in his supply closet—there's a lot of shit we need for this to work. Here, stick this in your bag, and I'll grab the others. You're gonna have to distract everyone while I sneak the rest of these back in," he said, handing her the book with the ritual in it. She slipped it into her empty messenger bag and waited impatiently for him to grab up the rest of the books, blowing into her hands in a desperate attempt to warm them up.

When they reached the house, she hurried inside, eager to get warm again. Dean looked up blearily from where he was laying on the couch, no doubt zoning out on painkiller again. He sighed and shifted a bit as Aubrey shed her coat and bag and hurried towards him, the older Winchester no doubt guessing immediately what she was about to do. Toeing off her hiking boots, she bounced on the end of the couch where his feet were, and lifted the blanket covering him, pulling it up to her chin as she curled up opposite him.

"Dude!" Dean protested as her cold feet touched him. "Your feet are effing cold!"

"Why do you think I came over here," she told him with a grin, digging her feet into his side playfully before shoving them under his hip.

"What the hell were you and Bray doing out there for so long anyway?" he asked her, shifting his weight a bit to accommodate her.

"Oh, you know, just playing around."

"Aubrey, you hate being outside when it's cold—you bitch about it every damn time."

"Well, I was keeping Bray company."

"He wasn't making skateboard ramps in the junkyard again, was he? Because if he was, Dad's gonna roast his ass—he's already warned him about that shit."

"He wasn't," she assured him, eager to cut him off before he got started on a rant. "What's the big deal about that anyway? Uncle Bobby doesn't care."

"The big deal is that the shit out in the junkyard can always shift—nobody wants a car to land on you. Besides, as Sam would say, 'it's tetanus waiting to happen.'"

"Yeah, that does sound like him," Aubrey said with a grin, breathing a silent sigh of relief when Braden appeared in the doorway a minute later, his hands empty of any evidence of their morning outside. He plopped down into the armchair, a sprawling mass of limbs that just sort of seemed to sink into the cushion soundlessly.

"So…you and Sam…you two are good now?" Dean asked after a minute, his eyes locked firmly on the TV screen.

"Yeah, we're good."

"Awesome," he drawled. "So…what do you think about that chick of his?"

"I don't really know her that well…I mean, we haven't exactly had a chance to get to know her, what with everything happening lately. I was thinkin'…maybe she and Sam could take me and Bray shopping. We could get to know her a little better then."

"Yeah, you have fun with that," Dean said dryly.

"You think Sam will go for it?"

"Hell, yeah. He loves to do all that girly-shit, like shopping."

"_You_ like shopping," she pointed out with a grin.

"No, I like _people-watching_. It's just coincidence that the best place to watch people is at a shopping mall."

"Yeah, yeah, you just keep telling yourself that, big brother," she told him with a laugh. "Where are they, anyway? Sam and Jessica, I mean."

"Trust me, you don't wanna know," Dean said, shaking his head as he pushed and tugged at his pillow, trying to get comfortable.

"You mean they're…eww!"

"Dude, you're so easy," Dean laughed. "I'm totally shittin' you, Aub. They're in Bobby's study, lookin' at boring-ass books."

"Shut-up," she grumbled good-naturedly, nudging him in the side with her foot before shifting her attention to the TV.

She and Braden chilled out there for awhile, mindlessly watching TV with their older brother until he began to drop off into a drug-induced slumber.

"Bobby's got pretty much everything we need—except for the anise and the hemp seeds," Braden murmured after Dean's head was sufficiently buried under a pillow. "We're gonna hafta go into town to get those."

"And how are we gonna pull that off?"

"Easy. That shopping trip you mentioned—you're gonna ask Sam and Jessica if they'll take us, we'll ask if we can split up, find the stuff, stash it in your bag, and meet back up with them in no time."

"You _really _think they'll go for it?" she asked uncertainly. "

"Uh, yeah—Sam feels so guilty about not calling us that he'll do just about anything to make it up to us. And Jessie will go for it—she's a girl, and girls like to shop."

"Not every girl likes to shop, Braden."

"Name one that you know of."

She was silent, trying in vain to think of a single girl she knew of that didn't like shopping.

_Dang it!_

"That's only because I don't know that many girls," she said belligerently.

"Yeah, okay, sure. So listen, you hafta be the one to ask Sam—he'll go for it more if you do it. That whole, feminine wiles thing, I guess."

"Yeah, whatever," she said with a shrug. "So did you go ahead and get everything else?"

"Nah, I figured it'd be better to wait until right before we do the ritual—otherwise, Uncle Bobby might notice stuff missing."

"We _are_ going to pay him back, Braden—we're not _liberating_ stuff from Uncle Bobby. It's not right."

"Okay, okay," Braden told her, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I'll make a list of everything we take! Would you freakin' relax already?"

"Well, _someone_ has to worry—because _you're_ obviously not."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little on edge," he said irritably. "So forgive me if I don't really give a shit about the logistics."

She rolled her eyes, settling deeper into the couch cushions, careful not to jostle Dean.

"So in the meantime, what do we do?" she asked Braden, who was toying with the binding of a book he'd found.

"We've just gotta lay low until the new moon."

"So we wait?"

"We wait."

* * *

Waiting, of course, was easier said than done. Braden spent the rest of the week pretending to take the sleeping pills and growing more and more unstable with every passing day. Bobby and John had brought back a packet of dried betony to place in Braden's pillow, saying that it would prevent nightmares and ensure restful sleep. And on the rare occasion when Braden actually laid down on it, that _seemed_ to be the case.

_Hard to say if it's working though—could be that he's just so tired that he can't help but crash hard when he finally lays down for a few minutes._

When the day of the new moon finally arrived, Aubrey wasn't even sure how Braden was on his feet anymore. And their father was starting to suspect that Braden wasn't taking the pill somehow.

_And he'd be right, of course._

They managed to escape the house relatively early, Braden deciding it was best to go ahead and prepare the circle they'd be using for the ritual. She followed him out to the junkyard, huddling in her jacket as she watched him toil over the circle and the symbols it required, her worry growing as the sheer complexity of the spell really began to register.

"Bray…maybe we should ask Sam about this first."

"What? No! We can't—he'll just start asking questions, Aubrey. We don't have time for that! You're not going to chicken out on me _now_, are you?"

"No!" she told him vehemently. "I just think Sam could help us make sure this ritual is okay."

"I don't want him to be a part of this. I don't want anyone else to know. Look, if you want out, it's fine—I'll do it by myself."

"No, you know I'm in," she told him. "I wouldn't leave you to do something like this by yourself."

_Even if I do think it's a bad idea._

That night, Aubrey lay awake next to Dean, waiting for Braden to come for her. He'd have a harder time of it, she imagined, trying to escape the room where their father lay sleeping. Normally, it wasn't so easy to escape Dean either, but his head was already nestled under his pillow, a sure sign that he was asleep. Finally, when Aubrey was pretty sure she was going to fall asleep from waiting, Braden appeared in the doorway, silently motioning for her to follow him.

Without a word, she slipped out of bed, grabbing up a pair of sweatpants to pull on over her pajamas as well as her jacket and shoes, before following her brother outside. On the porch, they quickly donned their coats and shoes, and Braden grabbed up the duffel of supplies that he'd stashed in the bushes a few hours before sunset while Aubrey hefted the bag of salt into her arms. Shivering, she stepped off the porch after Braden, glancing back at the house one last time before they ventured into the junkyard.

"Start pouring salt around the edge of the circle," he told her when they reached the middle of the junkyard where the circle he'd drawn earlier was waiting.

"And what are you gonna do?"

"I've got a few more sigils to draw—some added protection."

With a sigh, she complied, carefully pouring the salt and growing more and more concerned as she considered what they were doing.

_Anything that needs salt and more sigils as _added_ protection can't be good._

_This is such a bad idea,_ she thought, wringing her hands as she watched her brother efficiently etch four sigils along the salt perimeter before unzipping the duffel and removing the supplies: anise, dandelion, a small bowl, candles, hemp seeds, a lighter and willow.

"Braden, are you sure this is safe?"

"It's fine. We're not conjuring up anything violent—you'll be fine. Now, you sit there, and I'll tell you what to do as it comes up, okay?" he said, pointing her towards the northern most side of the circle. Suppressing a sigh, she sat down on her knees where'd he pointed.

"Listen," he continued, "once the herbs are lit, it's vital that the circle stays unbroken and you don't cross into it. So be careful and watch what you're doing, okay?"

_Oh crap. God, please don't let me screw this up with my klutziness. _

"Okay," she whispered instead, biting her lip as Braden took a seat opposite her, placing the bowl at the edge of the circle and handing her two of the candles.

"North and east, Aubrey," he told her, placing his own candles at south and west simultaneously. She watched wordlessly as he added the first of the herbs into the bowl, murmuring the start of the ritual in what Aubrey knew was flawless Latin.

Reaching for the willow, he dropped it into the bowl before adding the dandelion and setting the bowl back down beside him. More Latin followed as he lit the south and west candles, and for the first time, Aubrey was glad she didn't understand Latin the way her brother did, because truthfully, she really didn't want to know what he was saying.

"Here, light yours now," he said softly, tossing the lighter to her. She fumbled, the lighter falling into her lap, and she glanced up at Braden sheepishly. He shook his head, even as she picked it up and finally got her two candles lit.

"How much more do you have to do?"

"Just the rest of the Latin and then I set the herbs on fire."

"And then we'll be able to ask the spirits that it calls up if they know what's happening to you?"

"Yep, that's the plan."

And as he began to recite the rest of the ritual, Aubrey shivered, feeling the hair on the back of her neck beginning to stand up as the power in Braden's words began to manifest.

He had just lit the herbs in the bowl when a voice emerged from the darkness.

"What the hell are you two doing out here?" Dean called out, moving towards them with swift strides. "It's the middle of the fucking night, and there's no—"

"Dean, no!" Braden yelled, but by then, it was too late.

Dean stepped into the circle, and the screaming began.

* * *

A/N: As always, thanks so much to everyone who reviewed!

**courtneyun**: Thanks for dropping me a line letting me know what you thought—and I love grumpy Dean, too! And angsty Dean, and hurt Dean, and broody Dean, and paranoid Dean…lol! So what did you think of Braden's actions this chapter?

**DrifterFanatic92**: Glad you're enjoying the Dean and Sam rants—I have so much fun writing Dean when he's in his paranoid state. As for John, yeah, I'm with you on preferring fics where he's a good man doing the best he can. Sure, he screws up sometimes, and he's not always Mr. Sensitive, but he's not a bad father. Anyways, thanks so much for the review!

**R2M**: Hope you liked the chapter! Thanks for reviewing!

**saberivojo**: You know, you're absolutely right—John _is_ patient with Dean. And yeah, Braden is definitely having a hard time! Things are starting to come to a head now…

**Jenmm31**: I'm sorry I ended the last chapter there…you probably had similar thoughts when I ended this one. But my update time increased a bit, and I was able to churn this chapter out a little bit faster! As for Jess, she made it into a little Prologue 'verse one-shot I posted recently—"The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Winchesters." You should check it out—you might warm up to Jess after reading it! Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing!

**zuimar**: I'm so happy to hear how much you enjoy getting an alert in your inbox for my fic—it makes me smile! I've grown quite fond of Braden, myself—things are going to start happening pretty quick from this chapter on as far as what's going on with Braden. As for spoilage, let me know if you really want to know who's going to make it in the end—I'll PM you if you really want to know. Oh, and thanks for telling me the line you enjoyed from the last chapter—I get a kick out of seeing what people find particularly funny!

**jormaduran**: At last, someone who checks my page! LOL! I try to put little status updates on there, but so often, I just forget. I've been on LJ more lately, so I don't keep up with my ff page as well as I should. As for grumpy Dean, I've gotten great responses to him, and I enjoy writing him that way, so he'll probably show up grumpy again before long—he's grumpy/paranoid Dean in my Prologue 'verse one-shot, so if you like that, you might wanna check it out (it's on my URL)! Anyways, I'm glad you like Jess—some readers aren't as fond of her, but I really like her! Sorry about the cliffhangers lately—but they close a chapter so terribly well, don't they? Thanks for the review!

**WastedJamie**: Yes, cranky Dean is so fun, isn't he?! I get the giggles sometimes writing him! Anyways, thanks for the review!

**achillies-eel**: So how did I do? Was Braden's meltdown sufficiently fun? Thanks for the character rundown in your review :P I worked on making Sam a little less insensitive—let me know how well I did. And okay, Jess wasn't in this chapter much, but hopefully she'll make another appearance in the next chapter. Wow…I make it sound like I have absolutely no control over my own characters/story. Heh, actually…anyways, I'm looking forward to hearing what you think! Thanks for the review!

**rholou**: Yeah, I like the brother-sister moments myself—expect them to pop up relatively often.

**stoic81**: I do sort of neglect the twins when it comes to assigning chapters, don't I? Glad you liked the Braden chapter—what'd you think of Aubrey's? Sorry you had to wait to find out what happened next—I think I'm getting better at writing those cliffhangers! Good for me, not so good for you guys, I guess…anyways, thanks for sending me a review!! I loved hearing what you thought!

**eggylaine**: You know, I got some good feedback on the Braden-centric chapter—I don't do nearly enough of them, I know. It's just so much easier to write Dean chapters, probably because I have so much fun writing Dean. He just amuses me to no end! So what did you think of Braden's solution to his problem?

**BlueSteelLove1207**: Welcome aboard! So glad you found my fic—thanks for dropping me a line! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

**iVans**: Well, I tried to post a little quicker than usual—I know what it's like to check your email constantly for the latest update in a fic! As far as the Braden-chapter goes, I didn't realize people enjoyed them so much. I usually write Dean or John chapters, as I find it a bit easier to catch their voices, but I'm glad you liked Braden's chapter! What did you think of Aubrey's? Thanks so much for all of the lovely compliments—they really made my day! I've got a Prologue 'verse one-shot on my URL now that you might like, if you're interested. Anyways, thanks again!


	34. Voices Too Loud to Go Unheard

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, everyone! This chapter was difficult to write for several reasons, but a biggie was simply that I'd played it out in my head in so many different ways that I had to work to narrow it down to just the right one. Anyways, I'm hoping I picked the right one. My beta liked it, so that's promising—thanks, mimishell! Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter 34: Voices Too Loud to Go Unheard

It wasn't just the screaming that had John jerking awake from a sound sleep. No, it was the _familiarity_ of the screaming that had him shooting up, his blood turning to ice in his veins as the screams, loud and visceral, echoed from the darkness outside.

_Dean!_

He hurled himself out of bed, immediately noting Braden's absence even as he grabbed his .45 and charged out of the bedroom, his heart pounding with growing fear as the sound of Aubrey's voice screaming Dean's name reverberated from somewhere out in the yard. He ran into Sam on the landing, the two of them barely managing to avoid knocking each other over as they dashed down the stairs, the sound of Dean's raw screams echoing outside.

"Daddy!" Aubrey screamed, and John felt like his heart was going to explode in his chest as he hurtled outside, his eyes frantically searching the darkness for his children.

Bobby was a step ahead of them, a shotgun in hand as he started running.

"John, the junkyard—move your ass!" Bobby yelled, but John was already with him, Sam on their heels as they ran full out for junkyard, where Aubrey was screaming for help, and Dean—Dean was just screaming.

While it wasn't uncommon for his oldest to get injured on a hunt, he wasn't prone to verbal displays of his pain, and hearing him scream was more than mildly alarming. It was downright terrifying.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, hurtling into the clearing at the center of the junkyard at full speed, only to have Bobby pull him back, even as John froze, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

_What the f—_

"Bobby, let go!" Sam cried, breaking into John's train of thought as Sam pushed at the older man frantically. "We can't just stand here! Look at him!"

"I know that, ya' idgit, but take a look at what's happening! He's in the center of a ritual circle—you can't just waltz into one, boy! From the looks of it, that's what your brother did and look what it got him. Now you just hold on a damn minute, so we can figure this out and keep another one of you stubborn-as-hell Winchesters hurt!"

"What the hell happened here?!" John asked, his eyes scanning the scene before him as he tried to put the pieces together with the image of Dean before him.

Dean was on his knees in the center of a ritual circle, cradling his head in his hands and hunching in on himself, practically prostrate on the ground as he screamed his throat raw. Aubrey was standing helplessly at the edge of the circle, tears pouring down her face as she desperately cried Dean's name, her twin at her side, holding her back as a litany of profanity spilled from his lips.

But it was the open book lying abandoned on the ground that really clued him in.

_Oh fuck._

He stepped closer to the twins, grabbing Braden's shoulder and yanking him forward, his sharp gaze darting from the book to his youngest son.

"Braden, what did you do?" John growled, his face dark as he narrowed his gaze on the fourteen-year-old.

"It—it was just a simple spell," Braden stammered. "It wasn't supposed to do this, I swear, Dad! Dean stepped into the circle, and I dunno, everything went crazy. This shouldn't have happened!"

"You shouldn't have been doing a spell in the first place!" Sam yelled, finally freeing himself of Bobby's hold as he stalked towards his little brother. "What was the spell, Braden?" he demanded, even as Braden took a step backward.

"It was…I just needed to know some things," Braden said, casting an anguished look at Dean even as Dean's screams began to taper off, his throat too raw to utter them anymore.

"What things?" Sam yelled. "What could be so damn important that—"

"Samuel, enough," John barked, pushing Sam back from Braden even as he turned to Bobby, shoving his fear and anger away to focus on the older man. "Bobby, what do we do? How do we get Dean out of this?"

"Depends on the spell Braden used," Bobby replied, looking worriedly down at Dean before turning towards Braden.

"Bobby," Sam broke in, his eyes focusing on Bobby with almost frightening intensity, "Braden said it himself—Dean just walked into the circle. So why can't he just walk back out?"

"He _could_," Bobby told him, meeting Sam's gaze unblinkingly, "but the spell needs to be neutralized _first_ or we're gonna be up shit-creek without a paddle. So go and get a bucket of water from the well. We can bless it, and with any luck, we can say the right words and fix this."

"Why do—" Sam began, but John interrupted, tired of the questions.

"We don't have time for you to question orders," John snapped. "You put your ass in gear and go do what Bobby told you—now, damn it!"

With a scowl, Sam hurried off, obviously knowing better than to question his father any more.

_No, he'll save that for later, no doubt well after he's built up a good head of steam and a shit load of piss and vinegar to hurl at me._

"Braden," Bobby said, startling John out of his thoughts, "Gimme the book, and let me see if I can make heads or tails of the spell you used."

Braden lifted the book off the ground and moved toward Bobby, handing it over wordlessly as he pointed to the spell he'd used. Aubrey released her grip on him and scurried towards John, latching onto his arm even as John moved to the edge of the circle. Mindful of Bobby's warning not to cross the perimeter, he gently pushed Aubrey behind him and crouched down, balanced on the balls of his feet as he waited impatiently for Bobby to tell him he could get his son. Everything inside him was screaming at him to do something, _anything_, to help his son, and the aching sense of helplessness gnawed at him unceasingly, a feeling he was more familiar with than he wanted.

"Hang in there, son," he murmured, feeling Aubrey's fingers come up to grip his shoulder through the fabric of his t-shirt.

"D-Dad," Dean gasped, dropping his head to the ground and holding his hands over his ears as he rocked back and forth on his haunches. "Help me," he whimpered.

"Dean, I can't cross that line—we don't know what it might do," John murmured. "I'm sorry, son—look, just hold on—Bobby's working on getting you outta there, okay? Just stay with me, alright?"

"Dad, please," Dean whispered, and John could see the effort it was taking for him to focus, tears leaking slowly from the twenty-four-year-old's eyes. "'s too loud."

"What's too loud?" John asked, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he stared back at his son.

"Them—all of them, 's too much," Dean sobbed, and taking a deep breath that ended with a gasp, Dean shifted, getting his feet under him and hurling himself at John.

"No!" Bobby yelled, looking up, but it was too late. Dean practically fell into John's lap, his hands gripping the front of John's shirt even as he buried his head against his father's stomach, whimpering.

"Bobby, what?" John asked, fearing the answer even as he cradled his son in his arms and looked up at the older man.

"Dammit, Johnny—he shouldn't have broken the circle again—it had closed up after he walked into it, sealing the spell inside, but now…shit," Bobby said, pulling his hat off and running his hand through his hair helplessly.

"They won't stop, Dad," Dean whispered before John could question Bobby further, his voice thick as he looked up at John with pain-filled eyes. "Why won't they shut-up?"

"Bobby, what's he talking about? What the hell is happening to him?" John barked, looking up at the older man for answers.

"The spell—it was meant to allow contact with spirits—but the _spirits_ were supposed to stay contained in the circle, and they would return to where they came from when the spell was ended and the circle cleansed. When Dean went into the circle, he changed the rules, and if I'm right…well, he's opened himself up to the spirit world, Johnny, made himself clairaudient."

"Clair-what?"

"Clairaudient—he's hearing the voices of the dead. They're coming at him like moths to a flame, but you see, he was never meant to have that gift—he can't handle it, doesn't have the shields that a natural-born clairaudient would have. He's hearing voices—too many—and he doesn't know how to block them. This isn't good."

"So how do we get rid of it?"

"I'm not sure," Bobby said, shaking his head helplessly. "Dean broke the circle before I could undo the spell—the spirits essentially came with him. It's gonna take me some time to try and make sense of this."

"So what do we do in the meantime? Leave him to suffer?"

"Look, let's just get him into the house. Maybe there's something we can do to make him more comfortable while I try to reverse it."

John shifted Dean forward, groaning a bit as he got his feet under him and began to pull a sagging Dean up with him.

"What happened?" Sam called out, and John looked up to see Sam hurrying towards them, setting the bucket down beside the abandoned ritual circle as he moved to help John with Dean's weight. It wasn't easy—Dean had gone completely limp, and he wasn't exactly a lightweight.

"We didn't think to tell Dean to stay in the circle," Aubrey murmured, watching with wet eyes as he and Sam balanced Dean between them.

"He jumped out before we could neutralize the effects of the spell," Braden added softly, his face a picture of guilt as he looked on, Aubrey once again at his side.

"And now he's hearing voices and we don't know how to make it stop," Aubrey finished, gazing helplessly up at Sam before turning away.

"Shit, Dean," Sam breathed as they started moving toward the house, Dean moaning quietly, his head hanging as they practically carried him inside. Jessica met them at the door, holding it open with a 'what the fuck happened?' expression.

"Later," Sam told her softly as they passed by, and with a nod, she stepped back to give them more room. John was vaguely aware of the twins following behind, even as Bobby veered off in the direction of his mountain of books, no doubt to try and find a way to reverse the damage the twins had done.

_This is Braden's doing. Course, Aubrey went along with it, so I suppose she's just as much to blame as he is. But, damn—what the hell were they thinking?_

"Braden, later, you and I are gonna have a serious talk about this," he said over his shoulder, and Braden's face filled with a combination of worry and dismay.

"Dad, I—," Braden began, but John cut him off.

"No. _Later_, I said."

Braden subsided with a sigh, not saying another word as John and Sam reached Bobby's room. They laid Dean on the rumpled sheets, even as Dean shifted, rolling into a fetal position, his hands coming up to cradle his head as he began to mumble.

"Shit, Dad—what do we do?" Sam asked, his helpless gaze searching John's face. But John didn't know what to tell him. Because the truth was, John didn't have a clue.

He shook his head regretfully, sitting down at Dean's hip, rubbing circles on Dean's back in a vain attempt to offer some modicum of comfort.

_For all the fucking good it's doing. _

"No…stop…" Dean called out, his face tight with pain as he struggled against a myriad of voices that no one else could hear. "I can't…"

"Is he gonna be okay, Daddy?" Aubrey asked worriedly, her eyes staring tearfully at her oldest brother as he trembled underneath John's hand.

"Bobby'll figure this out," he told her, his confident tone belying the worry he felt.

_Please, God, let him figure this out. _

"You two go back downstairs, see if you can help Bobby unravel the shit-pile you've gotten your brother into."

"I'll go with 'em," Sam mumbled. "Maybe I can help." John nodded as Sam threw his arm around Aubrey's shoulder and led her to the door. Braden moved to follow them, only to pause and turn back. He stepped toward the bed, guilt written all over his features as he stared down at his older brother.

"'m sorry, D—I didn't mean for this to happen," he whispered, laying his hand on his brother's shoulder with a sigh. But as his hand made contact, Dean jerked, his eyes widening as he gasped. With lightning speed, his hand shot out and gripped Braden's shoulder, yanking the younger boy closer.

"D, what are you—" Braden started, only to still, glancing at John questioningly as Dean froze. "Dad, what's he doing?"

"Hell if I know," John replied, watching with growing confusion as Dean stared at Braden with growing alarm, as though suddenly listening to something neither of them could hear.

"No! No!" Dean shouted, his eyes panicked as he stared back at Braden with unseeing eyes. "Don't! Leave him alone, you sonovabitch! Leave him…"

"Dean?" John moved forward to pry Dean's hands from Braden when a pained expression crossed Dean's face, taking on a more helpless appearance. "Who are you?" Dean whispered brokenly, clinging to his younger brother with an ever-tightening grip.

"Dean, it's me, Bra—"

"Why should I trust you?" Dean bit out viciously, and Braden looked as though he'd been punched, staring back into his brother's eyes with hurt confusion.

"Dean, I know I screwed up, but you can trust me, I swear it," Braden told him, pleading, his hands tightening on Dean's shoulders as he tried to get through to the older Winchester.

"Braden, I don't think he's talking to you, son," John said softly, staring at Dean with worried eyes as the older boy tightened his grip on Braden's shirt.

"I don't…really have a…choice…do I?" Dean retorted, and Braden stilled then, as though it was only just then sinking in that Dean wasn't talking to him. "Fuck…just…shit…make it…stop…" Dean's body jerked then, something in his gaze shifting, and John knew without a doubt that whatever Dean had seen or heard before was gone.

"Dean?" he asked, staring worriedly at his oldest, whose eyes were locked on his younger brother's.

"Bray, shit…you've…I think…gotta stop…fighting it," Dean gasped, and John's gaze shot to Braden, searching the teen's face for any hint that he knew what his older brother was talking about.

"What does he mean, Braden?" he asked, certain that Braden knew more than his clueless expression implied.

"I don't know."

"Dean, what did you mean?"

"You—jus' let go, Bray," Dean told his brother, seeming not to hear John at all as he struggled to maintain his focus on Braden. "Quit fighting it…says he can help…no! Stop! I can't help you—back off! Dammit! Just shut up for one fucking minute!" Dean screamed, seeming to be taking part in multiple conversations as he shook his head frantically, apparently trying to regain some sense of focus before he looked back at Braden with a hint of desperation. "Bray, please."

"D, I…I can't. I'm scared," Braden whispered, and John felt as though his heart had frozen in his chest at the sickening realization that Braden knew exactly what Dean was talking about after all.

"Yeah, you can," Dean told him. "Dad's here," he mumbled, his fingers bunching the fabric of Braden's shirt. "Won't let anything bad happen. Ah…fuck…no. Stop, please…just stop…"

And with that, Dean was gone, lost in a sea of voices that only he could hear, only half-conscious and completely out of John's reach. So he turned his attention to his youngest son, his gaze dark as the fourteen-year-old looked away, unable to meet his eyes. And right then, watching his oldest writhe in pain from a foe he was helpless to fight, it was all too easy to shove the fear and helplessness away and grab onto the one emotion that he could handle: rage.

Unfortunately, the only target in sight was his youngest son. Distantly, he was aware that his boy was about to become the victim of his vicious temper, but it was either indulge the anger or give into the despair. And John had never been one to let despair get the upper hand. So anger it was.

"Braden, I think you'd better get the fuck downstairs now and help Bobby figure out what the hell you've done to your brother."

"Dad?"

"Now, Braden!"

_Oh fuck, rein it in, John,_ he told himself, feeling the edge of his anger beginning to slip beyond his control. _Not his fault, not his fault—an accident. Rein it in…_

"Dad, I'm—"

"Braden," he said tightly, closing his eyes as he fought to tamp down on the rage coursing through him, "I'm so fucking angry at you right now that I don't even know where to begin," he forced out. "So you go on downstairs like I told you. You and I will talk later," he said, controlling the anger only through sheer stubbornness.

"It was just a simple spell, Dad—nothing like this was supposed to happen," Braden told him softly, his blue eyes staring back at him with a silent plea for understanding.

But John wasn't in a place where he could give understanding, and Braden's words only managed to snap the tenuous hold John had on his temper.

"I'm not interested in the damn spell right now! I'm trying to deal with what's happening to your brother and the fact that I don't know how to help him! I'm trying to understand just what would fucking possess you to do some ritual, when I've drilled it into all of you to leave that shit alone! You don't play with shit like that—I've fucking told you, time after time! And you go and do it anyway—and now your brother is laying here, talking out of his head, and that I don't have a damn clue what he was saying just now or how to fix it! Nevermind that you seemed to know _exactly_ what the hell he was talking about! So unless you wanna start explaining it to me right now, when I'm about ten seconds from completely losing my shit, I suggest you get your ass downstairs like I told you!"

Biting his lip, Braden nodded, backing out of the room and leaving John alone with his thoughts and his oldest son.

_Shit_, he thought, dragging his hand through his hair wearily. _Braden, I'm sorry._

With a sigh, he dragged a chair over to the bed and sat down, cradling his head in his hands and hating himself for the shit he put his children through.

A few minutes later, a small knock on the doorframe had him looking up to see Jessica standing in the doorway with a sad smile on her face and a bag of rock salt in her arms.

"Mr. Singer asked me to bring this up, told me to tell you to put a line down around the bed."

"Did he say if it would stop the voices?"

"For awhile. But it won't hold them off for long. It's temporary."

"Shit," he mumbled as he came to his feet and reached out to take the bag from her. She met him halfway, letting him take the bag from her before she turned a pitying gaze on Dean. He dropped the bag on the floor for a moment before reaching down to pull the bed away from the wall. Jessica watched him wordlessly as he began to pour the salt in a neat circle around the bed.

"No…just…" Dean started, his voice tapering off suddenly as the circle closed, his body slumping into the mattress in absolute exhaustion. As John sat back down in his chair by the bed, Jessica quietly stepped out, only to return a minute later with a wet washrag. Carefully stepping over the line, she sat down on the bed beside Dean, using the washrag to wipe the sweat from his face.

"You mind if I stay for awhile?" she asked John softly, her eyes fixed sadly upon Dean.

"If that's what you want," John murmured. "But I'm not exactly good company right now."

"That's alright. You don't have to be," she told him, and in that moment, she reminded him so much of Mary that his heart ached and tears pricked at his eyes. "It'll be okay, Mr. Winchester," she whispered, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder for just a moment before turning back to Dean.

And as Dean began to groan and lash out, speaking to voices no one else could hear, John knew they were in it for the long haul.

_C'mon, Dean, hang in there. _

* * *

As the night wore on, Dean got worse. His sweat-soaked hair was plastered to his head, and his voice had been reduced to a hoarse croak from hours of shouting and cursing the voices that had gotten past the salt lines some time ago. He was too exhausted to yell anymore, anyway, even if he still had the voice to, but the spirits wouldn't let up, wouldn't let him rest.

John had tried to send Jessica to bed a couple of hours ago, because anyone could see that it was tearing her up watching Dean suffer.

_You and me both, girl. _

He was pretty sure she hadn't actually gone to bed, that she'd gone downstairs to help the others instead, which he sort of hoped was the case, since it was far more likely that she'd come up and fill him in on their progress. He could've gone downstairs himself to check, but he was loathe to leave Dean alone, not when the boy was hurting and vulnerable.

"How's he doin', Johnny?"

_Speak of the devil,_ John thought as he looked up to see Bobby standing in the doorway. The grizzled hunter stepped in, approaching the bed with a sympathetic, worried gaze on the twenty-four-year-old.

"Please tell me you've got something, Bobby—he can't take much more of this."

_And neither can I, _he thought, watching Dean toss his head fitfully before subsiding with a whimper.

"Not yet," Bobby told him with a regretful sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm tryin', but the spell Braden invoked is archaic, and there hasn't exactly been a lot of experimenting with it. Add in the fact that we're not just reversing a spell but reversing a major screw-up of the spell, and well…it's damn difficult."

"Has Braden been able to help at all?" John asked, rubbing at his eyes with a sigh of his own.

"He's tryin', John, but this is a little beyond the average fourteen-year-old."

"Bullshit," John told him bluntly. "The boy's never been _average_ and you know it. Besides that, he managed to do the fucking spell in the first place."

"Yeah, he managed to do it the way it was _intended_, but when Dean stepped into it, all bets were off. That spell went all to hell—it was never intended to create a conduit to the other side, John. We're flying blind here."

"Dammit, Bobby—I can't just—"

"Dad?"

Caught off guard, John turned to see Braden standing hesitantly in the doorway, looking both exhausted and devastated. He looked a step away from crying as he watched his older brother's body jerk in agitation.

"What is it, Braden?" John asked wearily.

"You still mad at me?"

It was the sort of question John hadn't heard from his children in years, and definitely one that didn't come from Braden, the most reserved and placid of his offspring. Even when he was in trouble, he didn't usually concern himself overmuch with the emotional fall-out, just sucking it up, taking his punishment and moving on. So it was something of a surprise to see how upset his son really was.

_Damn if he doesn't look like a little kid._

And it suddenly occurred to him, that in a sense, he _was_ a kid. It was so easy to forget sometimes that for all intents and purposes, the twins were still young.

_And I've been pretty damn hard on him lately, or at least completely fucking unhelpful. Shit. I should've sat down and tried to talk to him, especially since it's pretty damn obvious that he's struggling to keep his shit together. The emotional meltdown the other night should have been a fucking neon sign, Johnny Boy. _

"C'mere," he said, motioning Braden forward with a motion, and hesitantly, Braden stepped in, only to suddenly rush forward. John barely made it to his feet in time to catch the boy as he threw himself at John, burying his face in John's shirt as he started to sob pitifully.

"'m sorry, Daddy, 'm sorry!"

"Shh, it's alright," John said, wrapping his son in his arms and rocking him, his throat tight as Braden's despair spilled out.

"I didn't mean to, I swear," he cried, and John laid his cheek against Braden's hair, fighting an unexpected urge to cry himself.

"I know you didn't," he said softly, speaking past the lump in his throat as his he held Braden close, letting the distraught fourteen-year-old pour out his despair.

Aubrey appeared in the doorway a minute later, as though drawn by some sort of invisible pull to her twin, and Sam followed soon enough, his eyes gazing helplessly back at John's as he silently asked what he was supposed to do. And then Jessica was there, squeezing in behind Sam and placing a steaming cup of coffee on the bedside table for John before stepping back wordlessly, obviously not wanting to intrude. Sam wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into him, gazing sadly back at John and Braden.

Braden's sobs tapered off after what, to John, seemed like eternity before he lifted his head and stepped back with a deep, shuddering breath.

"I messed up, Dad," he said softly, "but I'm gonna fix it."

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't know for sure…and I'm scared…but I gotta do it for D. You…you gotta make sure nothin' happens, okay?"

"Braden, I don't know what the hell you're talking about," John told him, growing concerned as he watched the scared but resolute expression on Braden's face as the boy stepped away from him and moved to the bed. "Son, you gotta talk to me."

"Just don't let anything bad happen, Dad, okay?" he said softly as he knelt on the bed beside his brother.

"Bray, what are you gonna do?" Aubrey asked, stepping forward in alarm as Braden closed his eyes, biting his lip as he took one last, shaky breath.

"D said to let go…I gotta let go."

Alarms were going off in John's head, now, his brain screaming at him that something was horribly wrong.

"Braden, what are you doing?" he asked, already moving forward as Braden suddenly slumped forward. "Shit!"

He was reaching for him when Braden abruptly straightened, his eyes suddenly staring straight back at John with a strange cast to them, his little boy's bright blue gaze boring into him with an intensity that was downright frightening.

"Braden?"

The fourteen-year-old cocked his head, a slight smile curving his lips as he looked at John.

"Come, John," he said crisply. "Let's not fool ourselves here—we both know I'm not Braden."

_Oh, fuck! No!_

Everyone moved at once, John planting himself in front of Aubrey protectively as she ran toward her brother, catching her arm and holding her in place behind him as Sam moved in front of Jessica. Bobby was already moving towards the rifle propped up by the door, while Sam pulled a .45 from his waistband.

"_Christo_!" John yelled, preparing himself for the tell-tale black eyes of the demon that had taken over his son's body.

"A demon, John? Really, I expected better of you," it tutted, shaking Braden's head ruefully before glancing down at Dean with a critical gaze. "Quite the situation you all have gotten yourselves into. Or should I say, quite the situation that _Dean_ has gotten _himself_ into. You should teach him to be more careful, John."

* * *

A/N: Wow, you guys! I finally reached 300 reviews! Y'all are so awesome, despite the fact that I make you wait forever for chapters sometimes! Thanks to all of you who read and review!

**Beccatdemon13**: I'm glad you like the story! Grumpy Dean _is _fun, isn't he? Hurt Dean is fun, too, though…there's usually one or the other in most chapters—I just can't help myself! So the question is, which is more satisfying to you—grumpy Dean or hurt Dean?

**ChildInMe**: Sorry I made you wait so long for the chapter—I know what it's like to get online and check every day for an update to a fic. This was a harder chapter to write, and then I had to wait to get it back from my beta, who has a RL—LOL! As to your request for a love interest for one of the twins…it's not really a consideration at this point, since the twins are only fourteen and are on the move a lot. The plot wouldn't really be conducive to it at this point either—too much is happening, and the timing is picking up, so they simply wouldn't have a chance to meet anyone. Add in the fact that the more OCs I write into a story, the more overwhelming they get. I've done that before and just about went crazy trying to keep everyone included. So it's probably not going to happen, at least not in this story. But I really enjoy hearing people's suggestions/requests/etc., so thanks so much for sending me your thoughts!

**Albinea**: Yay! My 300th reviewer!! I would shower you with confetti if I could, but alas, you'll just have to imagine it! Not only did you send me my 300th review, you also wrote such lovely compliments—it felt like my birthday—LOL! Sorry I made you wait so long on a cliffhanger—this chapter was tricky. But I hope it's worth the wait—let me know what you think!! Thanks so much for reviewing!!

**zuimar**: Yeah, I'm getting bad with the cliffhangers—shame on me! They're just sort of rolling out of my brain lately, though! And they're so deliciously angsty/exciting that I just can't seem to help myself. I'm guessing I didn't do much better with this chapter…but at least I've already started writing the next chapter, so it shouldn't take as long this time!

**jormaduran**: Thanks for the review—writing chapters from either of the twins' perspectives is tricky for me, so I'm glad the last chapter was good enough to give a bit more insight into Aubrey. I guess it's because the twins are OCs—it's harder to hear their voices in my head. As for what they were thinking when they didn't tell anyone, I like to think it was typical Winchester 'I want to handle it myself' behavior—they're big into that. LOL! Anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter!

**Hicks07**: Thanks for sending me a review, and yeah, you're right—Dean _does_ say he saw something bad happen to his mom! It's nice to have readers that pick up on little things and relay them back—it's sort of comforting to know if you're not sure about something, somebody that reads your fic probably knows the answer. Thanks again!

**stoic81**: Yay! It was so nice of you to say that I'm finding Aubrey's voice—the twins are hard to write now that they're older and getting their own chapters—the fact that they're OCs makes it hard to hear them in my head sometimes. Dean and John come the easiest to me, especially Dean, so writing from a fourteen-year-old's perspective sort of takes me awhile. Actually, most of these chapters have been taking me awhile…oh well. Thanks for the compliment on the cliffhangers—they're actually coming to me much easier lately—I'm driving everyone absolutely nuts, of course, but they make for such great chapter closings that I can't seem to resist! And yay for nice, fatherly John! As for Sam and John, I think they're pretty much okay with each other since their heart-to-heart over the ice-packs a few chapters back. Granted, they'll still snarl at each other from time-to-time, but the rift that was there isn't what it was. Anyways, thanks so much for your review!

**achillies-eel**: I'm so glad you didn't miss the last chapter! Hope you get this one! Also, I added a new one-shot on LJ, too, if you wanna check it out—it's a discipline fic, so you'll probably enjoy it. As for what might have happened if Dean hadn't stepped into the circle…probably nothing. I mean, the spell would have worked the way it was intended, though whether or not Braden would have gotten the information he was seeking is questionable. I didn't want it to be that easy, you know. LOL! Anyways, yes, I'm starting to get quite bad about the evil cliffhangers—sorry about that. I just haven't been able to help myself lately! Hopefully, this one wasn't too bad. Actually, I kinda think it was…hope to hear from you just the same!! Thanks for the review!!

**rholou**: Okay, so obviously I didn't reply to your review earlier, though it was clear that you were dying to know who was screaming. But I didn't want to ruin the surprise!!! So now that you know, what did you think?!

**saberivojo**: Ah, yes, the Great Shotgun Shell Incident…it's on the list of possible one-shots, of which there are quite a few. I was thinking about it, and I'm not sure if it's enough to get a decent one-shot out of it, but it's still under consideration. After all, the Winchester kids are just too much fun! Anyways, thanks for the review!

**ingiwoo**: Sorry I'm not faster with the updates—I know it's frustrating for those who check my URL on a regular basis. Truth is, I loathe short chapters, so I prefer for each chapter to be at least 10 pages. And depending on the POV of a particular chapter, it can take longer, as certain characters are harder to write than others. Factor in real life, and well…yeah. Slow updates. Sorry! As for my King Arthur fics, I hate that I never finished the last one…I have all intentions of finishing it, I just don't know when. Anyways, thanks for reviewing!

**courtneyun**: Here you go! Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for reviewing!

**eggylaine**: Okay, so the truth is, a lot of the time, Aubrey _does_ follow Braden for no other reason than that they're twins. I think that's part of the nature of their relationship—they're close without any particular reason, and she's gonna go with him regardless of how stupid his decisions might be because he'd do the same for her. But I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter—Aubrey is a bit hard to write, so I struggle with her chapters. Thanks so much for the review!

**thedriverpicksthemusic**: Yes, I totally left it like that. And it appears that I did it again…I'm sorry! I just can't help myself! Those cliffhangers make for the most rockin' endings! Actually, you got a little more than I originally intended—it was going to end at the line where not-Braden says to John, "Let's not fool ourselves here—we both know I'm not Braden," but I ended up deciding to add just a bit more dialogue to it instead. Okay, so it's probably small comfort now, but just wait—it'll be good, I promise!

**iVans**: Chapter 33 was your favorite?! Awesome! I'm hoping this one will top the last one—you'll have to let me know!

**irishgirl9**: Well, you got your wish—Braden wasn't hurt. Not physically anyway. When in doubt, be aware that I will typically hurt Dean before I hurt any other character. So evil of me, I know. But anyways, thanks for reviewing!

**R2M**: So you didn't exactly get the quick update that you were hoping for—I'm sorry about that, I really am. It was a difficult chapter to write for a variety of reasons that I won't bore you with, but I hope it was worth the wait! I've already started writing the next chapter, and with any luck, it won't take long crosses fingers. Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing!


	35. Sharing the Burden

A/N: Sorry for the delay, guys. I suck. Out loud. Again. Thanks, mimishell, for beta-ing this _way_ faster than I wrote it.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 35: Sharing the Burden

"Who the hell are you?" Sam demanded, his hand tightening on the gun as he stared back at the smaller frame of his little brother.

"Are you going to shoot me, Samuel?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow questioningly. "I wouldn't recommend it—this is still your brother's body, you know. Might I save you some time by mentioning that shooting me full of rock-salt will be nothing more than a fruitless endeavor? To be honest, I had hoped you were smarter than that."

If Sam were being honest with himself, he'd admit that hearing the gravelly voice emerge from his younger brother's mouth was creepy as hell. The change in accent was none too reassuring either, the gruff, but cultured New England accent that had replaced Braden's usual soft Southern twang merely reinforcing the fact that whoever was speaking was definitely _not_ Braden.

"Answer the damn question," John barked, the shotgun held unwaveringly in his hands.

"Perhaps if you asked me politely," not-Braden said, crossing Braden's arms over his chest as he met John's gaze head-on. "I don't respond well to threats, and I certainly don't take orders from _you_, John Winchester."

"Please," Jessica spoke up, moving out from behind Sam hesitantly, sidestepping Sam's attempt to pull her back into place. "We didn't mean any offense—we just…we don't want Braden hurt."

"My dear girl, who said anything about hurting the boy? I'm rather fond of him, though he's as much of a stubborn ass as his father sometimes and no less maddening for it."

"So you're not going to hurt him then?"

"That's not in the plans."

"Will you tell us who you are?" she asked him, biting her lip nervously as she took a step closer.

"Jess," Sam hissed, motioning her back behind him, but she ignored him, her gaze focused on not-Braden even as John inched toward her.

"Well since you asked so nicely…you may call me Oliver."

"Is that even your real name?" John asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"You're certainly a suspicious bastard, John Winchester," Oliver said with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Ah, but you come by it rightly, I suppose. As a matter of fact, it _is_ my real name. Not that it'll help you much, if you imagine you can use it to somehow best me."

_Shit. _

"Now suppose we stop circling one another and be about our business. We were speaking of helping your oldest, I believe."

"Why the hell should I trust you?"

"Perhaps because, from where I'm standing, you don't have much in the way of alternatives."

_Bad move—Dad never responds well when he's cornered, and you're not leaving him an out._

"Forget it," John replied coldly. "I'm not letting you _anywhere_ near my boy until you give me some fucking answers! Now what the hell are you?!"

"Let's consider this rationally, shall we?" Oliver said coolly, shifting so that he was leaning comfortably against the headboard of the bed. "You could continue to wait for Robert Singer to find a solution, one that may not be at all forthcoming. Or you could seek other outside sources, I suppose, a witch perhaps. But then, it's no secret how you feel about witches. Still…it _is_ an option. All this while your son suffers, of course," he threw in, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Or you could accept my help and end his suffering."

Dean chose that moment to whimper, and despite his misgivings, Sam knew they didn't have time to keep dicking around.

_Not while Dean's suffering. He needs us to do something _now. _And if that means trusting this guy long enough for him or it to help us, then so be it._

"What did you have in mind?" Sam heard himself asking, stepping forward with only the slightest hesitation.

"Samuel, _please_ tell me you're not considering this," his father asked incredulously, staring at him with a look of disbelief and growing outrage.

"Dad, he's right," Sam argued, hoping that, for once, his father would actually let go of his stubborn pride and listen to reason, if not for Sam then for Dean. "Bobby, please, back me up, here," Sam said, turning to face the other hunter beseechingly .

"Sam," Bobby began slowly, "this is between you and your old man—'s not my place to interfere with family matters," Bobby told him with a regretful shake of his head.

"Well, do you know how to fix this?"

"Frankly…no. Which isn't to say I couldn't figure it out, maybe. But it would take time."

_See? _Sam wanted to say, but he fought back the childish impulse and instead tried logic.

"Dad, you heard him," Sam said fervently, turning back to face his father. "Bobby can't seem to make heads or tails of this, and that leaves us with a shitload of nothing. So we either sit here with our thumbs up our asses and watch Dean suffer, or we let Oliver help—I'm not seeing a third option here," he reasoned, fighting to keep the argumentative tone out of his voice. It went against his nature to concede to his father on, well, pretty much anything, but at this point, even he could see that pushing his father now wasn't a great idea.

_But still…Dad _has_ to see that this is our only choice. And if he won't, then fuck it—I'm gonna take the help that's offered, because I'll be damned if I'm gonna sit here and let Dean suffer any more._

"We don't even know who or what _Oliver_ is, Sam!" John snapped back, ruining the delusion Sam had been building of his father actually agreeing with him. "How do you know we can trust it?"

"I'm not saying trust him, Dad—"

"Really? Cause that's sure as hell what it sounds like! We don't know jack-shit about this _thing_, and you wanna trust your brother's life to it?!"

"You have before, John," Oliver broke in.

"What?" John barked, his voice sharp enough to draw blood as he turned a black look on not-Braden.

"_I've_ been with Braden longer than _you_ have. You've trusted me with your children for six years—you just never knew it," Oliver replied, a hint of a challenge in his voice as he quirked an eyebrow at Sam's father.

"What are you saying?" John demanded, his fists balling with rage, as Sam looked on with alarm.

_If Oliver wasn't currently wearing Braden's skin, Dad would've flattened him by now._ And Sam wasn't so sure his father still wouldn't as Oliver went on.

"Did you really think it was coincidence that Braden could draw the multitude of sigils and wards that's he's produced over the years, that your boy understood Latin without any idea of what it was he spoke, that he's managed to save all of you at one time or another without ever seeming to remember?"

"You've been taking over my son?!" John roared, his face turning such an alarming shade of red that Sam worried that his father was extremely close to having a fucking heart attack right there in front of him.

"Dad, maybe you should calm down," he murmured, easing towards his father in the hopes that he could steer him out of the room long enough to settle a bit. But as Sam laid his hand on his father's shoulder, it became immediately obvious that John wasn't having any of it. He shook Sam's hand off, facing off against the being wearing Braden's form.

"It was unwise to simply assume that Braden was nothing more than an exceptionally gifted child," Oliver continued nonchalantly. "Granted, it was just as well—your naïvete served my purposes quite well."

"What purposes?!"

"I'm merely keeping the boy safe."

"By possessing him! That's not _safe_, you sonovabitch!"

"He's made it this far, hasn't he? You might remind yourself that if it weren't for my intervention, your family would be quite a bit smaller tonight. I've kept your boy alive for a lot longer than you have."

"And the rest of my children? It's pretty damn obvious that you'll keep Braden safe for your own reasons, but why would you protect the others?"

"It's true that I have a vested interest in keeping Braden alive and well. But I'm not above stepping in for your other offspring on occasion. It's been made quite clear to me that they have a role to play as well, and I'm to keep my eye on them. Besides, I find myself rather attached to them after all these years. That Dean—he's a firecracker," he said, smiling as he shook his head bemusedly. "He amuses the hell out of me, he really does."

"I want you out of my son, damn it!"

"Dad, we don't have time for this anymore!" Sam broke in. "_Dean_ doesn't have time for this anymore! We need to do something, and we need to do it now."

"What do you want me to do, Sam?" John yelled, wheeling to face Sam with a dark expression. "Trust something we don't know, something we can't even _identify_?"

"I told you—I'm not saying we should _trust_ him. I'm saying we need to let him help."

"Why would he help us, Sam? Ask yourself that. What's in it for him?"

"He likes Dean, he said it himself."

"Are you even listening to yourself?! That's not logic, that's fucking rationalization!"

"Daddy," Aubrey broke in desperately, "please. Maybe we should do what Sam says. Dean's not lookin' so good," she murmured, casting a worried, tearful expression back at Dean before meeting their father's gaze pleadingly.

"John, you're being unreasonable," Oliver said tranquilly. "I've intervened countless times over the years, and you've never been the wiser. This occasion is no different, excepting that now you're actually aware of my involvement."

"No," Dean yelled suddenly, drawing everyone's gaze back to his trembling form as he lashed out, vainly trying to push away whatever was assailing him. "No! I can't fucking help you! Shut up!"

"John, I didn't reveal myself to you merely for my own enjoyment. The time grows short. I can help your eldest and end his suffering, or I can relinquish control back to Braden and leave you to solve the issue yourself. You need to make a decision."

"And all it will cost is my soul, is that it?" John sneered.

"As tarnished as it is, that's hardly a compelling offer," Oliver said with a chuckle. "But I'm not a crossroads demon, John. You wound me with such an implication. I wouldn't be caught dead with their ilk. So, no, no cost."

"So you're gonna help Dean out of the goodness of your heart, is that what you're telling me?"

"The goodness of Braden's heart, I would imagine, as I don't really have one of my own," Oliver told him with a smirk.

"How do I know you won't hurt him?"

"I give you my word that he won't be harmed by the ritual. And certainly, he can't be any worse off than he is _now_, can he?"

"How do I know you'll keep your word?" John asked, his eyes dark with suspicion.

"I may not be a demon, but I'm just as bound by my word as the likes of them."

John glowered before dropping his gaze to the floor, as though it held the answer to the decision facing him. He was silent for a long moment, and as Dean continued to writhe helplessly, assailed from all directions it seemed, it felt like an eternity passed by in the wake of John's silence.

"Dad?" Sam finally prompted, unable to take the waiting anymore.

"Just let him think it through for a few minutes, Sam," Aubrey murmured, putting her hand on his arm to restrain him. But Sam was tired of waiting.

"What's to think about?" Sam asked her, his voice a harsh whisper. "We've gotta _do_ something, and when all we've got are shitty options, we have to choose the lesser of two evils. Letting whoever or whatever this thing is help us might not be the greatest option, but at this point, it's pretty much the only one we've got if we're gonna quit sitting on our asses and actually help Dean."

"Sam," Jessica interjected, giving him a harsh look that told him in no uncertain terms to stop.

"What? I'm just saying—"

"Don't. This isn't just _your brother_ that we're talking about here. It's his son. And since Dean can't make the call for himself, we need to let your dad make the final decision, because _he's_ the one that will have to live with it if anything goes wrong."

_Shit. She's right._

With a sigh, Sam nodded, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on the top of her head, watching his father pace, the weight of the world seeming to crash down on his shoulders.

"Fuck," John muttered, drawing in a deep breath before looking back up at Oliver with a hostile gaze. "You're _sure_ you can help Dean? And it won't cost him anything?" he bit out, and while it wasn't exactly a nonthreatening, grateful tone, Sam decided to take what he could get.

"As I assured you, your souls are safe. As for helping him, I can't _undo_ the spell—that particular ritual was never meant to have this outcome, so reversing these effects simply isn't pos—"

"But you said you could help him!" Aubrey burst out, looking entirely offended by Oliver's words, which Sam would have found amusing if he wasn't so alarmed himself.

"I'd rather you not interrupt me, Aubrey—it's the height of rudeness," Oliver said bluntly, casting a stern look at the fourteen–year-old. "Nevermind that it's a waste of time your brother can ill afford right now."

"Sorry," she mumbled, sitting abruptly on the bed beside Dean with an abashed look before she dropped her gaze.

"Very well. Now as I was saying," he continued, "I can't reverse the spell, as there's no true counter-spell for this sort of mistake. But I _can_ tell you how to block the effects until such time as a better solution presents itself."

"So more of a treatment than an actual cure," Sam offered, trying to wrap his brain around what Oliver was telling them. "You can treat the symptoms, but you can't actually _cure_ him."

"Precisely."

"What do we need?" Sam asked.

"Nothing too hard to find: _rivea corymbosa _extract, sandalwood, myrrh, cinnamon, anise, _olibanum_, a few well placed runes and symbols. Amaranth couldn't hurt. I imagine Robert has all of these amidst his supplies," Oliver said, looking to Bobby for confirmation before continuing. "We'll also need a trinket or two of the sort that can be worn."

"What for?" John asked before Sam could, his obsessive need for control obviously encouraging him to take over the questioning.

"We'll infuse the trinkets with the…counter-spell, for lack of a better term," Oliver explained. "When worn on one's person, the trinket will repel the spirits that are being drawn to your son. Granted, he'll always be a tad sensitive to the spirit world, even with the trinket, but it'll be reduced to merely an awareness, perhaps a mild discomfort in the presence of a more powerful spirit. But I believe that with a little training on Dean's part, this will do nicely. Of course, its power will be greatly increased with the addition of one last thing."

"And what's that?"

"We need someone willing."

"Willing to do what?" John asked him, his eyes narrowing as his suspicion returned full force.

"To share the burden," Oliver replied practically. "A gift such as this one can't simply be _erased_. But if it were split between _two_ individuals, it can greatly reduce the strength of it. The blessed trinkets will take care of the rest."

_And there's the catch. Shit. _

"Can't you do the ritual without involving anyone else?" John was asking, his tone reeking of exasperation and exhaustion.

"I _could_. But it would hardly be as effective, and I feel compelled to warn you that it wouldn't be in Dean's best interest to forego the sharing. The clairaudient ability unlocked by the spell is too powerful for one person alone to bear. Even with the trinkets, Dean would remain too aware of the spirits around him. And I imagine I don't have to remind you that your chosen line of work would put him in greater contact with the spirit world than the average person. He'd never have a moment's peace."

"Dammit!"

Sam shared the sentiment, wondering not for the first time why they could never seem to get a break.

"Indeed," Oliver commented dryly, quirking his eyebrow as they all watched John whirl around and pace the floor, and Sam desperately wanted to open his mouth and start trying to talk his father into doing _something. _

_Dad, c'mon. It sucks, yeah, but we can't leave this to chance. And we can't just do _nothing _here._

"I'll do it," he heard himself say, knowing in his gut that it was the right thing to do, even as Jessica laid a restraining hand on his arm, her eyes staring up at him beseechingly.

"Sam, maybe you should think about it first," she whispered. "We don't know what this could do…"

"Jess," he interrupted her, "if I can help, I'm going to."

"Over my cold, dead body," John declared vehemently, and from the look on his face, Sam could tell the old man was gearing up for one of their infamous verbal throw-downs. "Having one of my children hit with this is bad enough—I won't have another one of you hurt! I won't. So forget it. The 'trinkets' will have to be enough."

"Dad, I can do this. Let me do this."

_For Dean. I have to. He's always given up everything for me. Now it's my turn._

"Please, Dad—" he began, ready to make his case when Oliver shook Braden's head with a regretful look.

"You cannot, Samuel."

"Why the hell not?"

"I'm not at liberty to speak of it. But suffice it to say, you'll likely soon have troubles enough of your own. No need to borrow the troubles of another."

"What are you _talking_ about?!"

"I'll say no more on the matter," Oliver said decisively, and Sam was left reeling with a swirling mixture of confusion and something akin to disappointment.

"Fine," their father said after a long moment of silence. "_I'll_ do it."

"You're not feasible either, John," Oliver told him with a shrug and a shake of his head.

"Why not?"

"You may be as head-blind as Ms. Mosely has always said you are, but nevertheless, you have formidable mental shields in place. Because of that, I have no doubt that any attempt to transfer the clairaudience to you would fail dismally. Robert won't do for the same reason," Oliver continued, nodding towards Bobby, obviously anticipating the older man's offer before he could get the words out. "I see no reason to waste our time by putting your son through such an ordeal more than once, wouldn't you agree, John?"

"That just leaves me, then," Aubrey said quietly, her voice cutting off John's response to Oliver's statement. Silence fell over the room then, everyone frozen as the truth of Aubrey's words fell over them all. It lasted only a moment before John reacted, and for the first time that night, Sam was on the same page as his father as the older Winchester spoke.

"Baby, no," John began, but Aubrey shook her head.

"There's no one else, Daddy," she told him solemnly, cutting him off before he could really get going.

"It's probably for the best, John," Oliver broke in. "She's young enough that any mental shielding she might have developed is still pliable. We have a greater chance for success."

Aubrey bit her lip and looked away, but not before Sam saw the look of fear and worry on her face.

"Daddy, Sam's right," Aubrey murmured. "We've gotta do whatever it takes to help D."

Sam pulled his eyes away from his sister's face and looked to his dad. His father's jaw was clenched tightly, and Sam knew he was toiling with the decision he was being forced to make. The thought of sacrificing one child to save another was probably the hardest decision a parent could ever face, and Sam wasn't sure he'd know what to do either.

"You swear to me that she won't be hurt," John said, grabbing Oliver by the collar of Braden's shirt and yanking him forward to look into the hazel-colored gaze that wasn't Braden's.

"I will do all that I can to ensure that your daughter is not harmed."

"That's not good enough."

"It's all I can promise you—employing magic such as this is always risky, John. There _are_ no guarantees."

"Worst case scenario," John growled. "What could happen?"

"Well that depends on your perspective. There's a small possibility that the ritual simply won't work effectively, in which case, the status quo remains. There's also a possibility that it will backfire or transfer too much to your daughter. Should that happen, we would have to perform the ritual again and hope that the power transfers back to Dean."

"Bobby? What do you think?" John asked, turning an almost desperate gaze to the other hunter.

"John, I know a hell of a lot about a hell of a lot, but this…I can't say for sure, but I think he's right."

"Fuck," Sam heard his dad mumble, his eyes on the older man as he dragged his hands through his hair in a gesture that Sam found all too familiar. "I don't like this. There're too many unknown variables that you can't account for," John said tightly, his eyes dark as they stared back at Oliver intently.

"I can't give you the guarantees you're searching for, John—rituals like these don't work that way. But keep in mind that I _am_ older than I look," Oliver said with a smirk. "I've been around long enough to have learned quite a bit—I'm more than confident in my ability to carry this ritual off without a hitch."

"Daddy, Braden's still in there—he won't let anything happen to me," Aubrey murmured, moving closer to John and wrapping her arms around him. "But you've gotta decide, 'cause we're runnin' outta time."

_Shit. _

It was one thing to watch his older brother suffer for a mistake—and sure, it was hard as hell to see. But to watch his baby sister willingly submit to undergo some fucked up ritual just because he couldn't and there was no one else who could wasn't just hard. It was painful.

"You sure about this, sweetheart?" John asked, looking down at her, his dark brown eyes searching her face.

"I'm sure," she told him with a nod, and with a deep, weary sigh, John finally acquiesced. But the relief that Sam had thought he'd feel when his father agreed to Oliver's plan wasn't there.

Things proceeded pretty quickly after that, as Oliver began to assign tasks to everyone. Aubrey was sent off to find whatever 'trinkets' would be used for the ritual, while Oliver disappeared down the stairs with Bobby. It was left for John and Sam to gather up the rest of the supplies that Oliver had listed, and as John headed for the door, he tossed a terse order over his shoulder for Jess to stay with Dean. Jess nodded, though judging from the look on her face, Sam knew she wasn't really certain what she could actually do to help.

"Just stay with him so he's not alone, okay?"

_Not that he's actually going to know you're there…_

But still, it was the principle of the thing. Dean hated to be alone. Dean never had and never would voice such a thing, but Sam knew it all the same, just as he suspected his father and his younger siblings did. And even if Dean was unaware, none of them would leave him completely alone if they could help it.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Sam was helping his father carry a limp, nonresistant Dean downstairs, neither of them speaking as they maneuvered him into one side of the two intricately drawn interlocking chalk circles drawn on the floor of Bobby's living room. Jess followed along behind them, not really sure what else to do, and Sam sympathized.

_I don't know what to do either._

"If one of you would kindly join Dean inside the circle and try to keep him somewhat still, that would be helpful. We don't need him breaking or damaging the circle by thrashing around too much."

"I'll do it," Jessica murmured, and though he wanted to protest, looking at the circle, Sam knew that Jessica was pretty much the only one who would reasonably fit into the circle with Dean without breaking the circle herself. With a sigh, Sam released his hold on Jessica's hand and retreated to the couch, settling on the arm of it to watch.

_Since that's pretty much all I _can_ do. _

"Sit by his hip," John told her as she stepped gingerly into the circle. "Stay out of his reach as best you can, and watch him—if he swings at you, don't try to block him. Just dodge it."

"Mr. Winchester, I can honestly say I wouldn't dream of trying to block him," Jessica replied with a slight smile as she settled on her knees at Dean's side, and Sam loved her all the more for trying to lighten the mood.

"Just be careful—I want him watched, but I don't want you hurt," John told her gruffly, laying a hand on the top of her head before stepping away and turning back to Oliver and Bobby. Sam, stunned by the obvious affection his father had just showed her, stared back at the older man, his mind reeling. The acceptance that his father's simple gesture had shown wasn't exactly something that Sam had expected.

_Dad's never really been open to the idea of bringing in outsiders. _In fact, they'd been expressly forbidden from bringing anyone into the insanity that characterized life for the Winchesters. _Granted, I didn't exactly come out and tell her anything—she sort of fell into it. But still, I never thought Dad would accept her._

But though his father hid it exceptionally well, Sam knew the old man had a big heart.

_Okay, so it's an exceptionally _well-guarded_ heart, with walls of titanium and lines of barbed wire firmly established around it. But he cares. Even if he doesn't show it much and more often than not acts like an ass._

Still, the fact that his father had opened up enough to be accepting of the girl he loved made Sam feel just a bit warmer towards his father at that moment, despite their continuous bickering.

"Sam? Are you okay, baby?" Jessica asked, obviously concerned by the way he was staring blankly at his father.

"Just tired," he told her, shaking off the train of thought as he drifted over to where she was sitting. He settled on the floor outside the circle, close but not too close, as mindful of the chalk lines as he was his brother's quiet whimpers. "Worried."

And he wasn't the only one, he knew. He and his father, so alike despite objections to the contrary, were both struggling to hold it together, so tired that their moods were all over the place. Granted, Sam was willing to admit, if only to himself, that he was pretty damn moody _anyway_, as was his father. But now, worry and sheer exhaustion had them outright fuelling each other.

_Poor Bobby—it's been years since he's had to deal with having both of us in the house, and now we're both moody as hell._

Shifting silently, Sam turned to watch Oliver, who looked eerily comfortable walking around in Braden's body. The figure in question was currently standing beside Bobby, his hands fisted on his hips as the two of them examined the diagram with a critical gaze.

"The inscription on this side here is over-balanced," Bobby said with a shake of his head.

"Yes, I know."

"You know?" John broke in. "Then why the hell haven't you fixed it yet?" he asked, his body rigid with hostility and stress as he moved to square off against Oliver. Which might have been funny—his dad challenging a completely nonchalant fourteen-year-old—_if_ it was under different circumstances.

_Way to be non-confrontational, Dad_, Sam thought angrily, wondering not for the first time why Oliver was willing to put up with his shit to help them.

"Because I purposefully unbalanced it, and I have no intention of correcting it," Oliver replied coolly.

"Why would you mess with the balance that way?" Bobby asked, staring back at Oliver in obvious confusion as he pulled his grungy hat off and rubbed his forehead, his brow creased.

"Because by overbalancing one side, we can ensure that _Dean_, not Aubrey, carries the heavier burden. Dean is older—even head-blind as he is, Dean's psychic shielding is far more developed than Aubrey's. Thus, it's more practical for him to wield the majority of the clairaudience."

_This is bullshit—he's still going to suffer. The only difference is that Aubrey's going to suffer, too!_

"If he's still going to have to carry all the weight, then what's the whole point of this ritual?" Sam asked hotly.

"Samuel, splitting the load, even unequally, will benefit Dean more than you imagine. Aubrey will take on only enough to allow Dean to safely handle the rest. He's perfectly capable of controlling it when it's been reduced to a more manageable amount."

"Then why don't you stop yapping and get on with it, then," John said abrasively. "While you're lecturing, Dean's getting worse," he pointed out, and Sam had to fight the growing urge to go completely lose it.

_No shit, Dad! Way to state the obvious. And hey, while you're at it, why don't you antagonize the thing holding Braden's body hostage a little more? Maybe you can _really_ piss him off._

"Aubrey is a mere adolescent, John —if we overburden her, we could damage her irreparably," Oliver said with what Sam considered saint-like patience. "At the same time, if we don't shift _just_ enough of the gift to her, Dean will continue to suffer. Given all of that, we can't afford to rush this. So as much as it goes against your nature, you're simply going to have to be patient."

_Yeah, like there's a __snowball's chance in hell of _that_ happening.__ I'm still waiting for that one to happen._

Shortly thereafter, John's impatience manifested itself in the form of pacing, and it didn't take long for the sound of his father's footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors to grate on Sam's nerves.

"Dad, you mind?"

"Mind what?"

"Giving it a rest. Just sit down or something."

"If I'm bothering you so much, _Your Highness_, why don't you just leave? You're real good at that."

"Nice," Sam said, suddenly finding it just a little too hard to care about exceeding the limit of his father's temper. But then, Sam was just as tired as his father, and his own temper was frayed to the breaking point. So it was hardly a surprise to him when his mouth opened and he began to spew vicious words of his own.

"You know, Dad, that's rich coming from you, considering how often _you_ fucking left us over the years. Hell, I spent more of my childhood being looked after by _Dean_ than you."

"_I_ was saving people, Sam—what's _your_ excuse? Oh right, I remember—you wanted to be normal. How's that working out for you?"

"Alright, everybody just be quiet," Jessica yelled. "This isn't helping anyone, and it's time to stop before someone says something they can't take back! Just quit it, both of you!"

_Shit._

Sam knew better than to argue with that tone, but the question remained: how would his father respond?

But apparently, John Winchester recognized the steely tone of a woman's 'I-mean-what-I-say-and-you'd-better-fucking-listen' voice when he heard one, because he fell silent as well.

_Bet Mom had that voice, too. She'd have had to, wouldn't she, to live with Dad? _

"Well said, young lady," Oliver said with a smirk. "You've saved me from interrupting them myself. John, it occurs to me that Ms. Mosely might be able to assist us. I wonder if perhaps she would be willing to join us here?"

_Oh, Dean's just gonna _love_ that,_ Sam thought dryly.

"Missouri? Why?"

"I believe she could prove invaluable in helping Dean and Aubrey with their shielding. This ritual will take care of blocking a great deal, but they need to learn proper shielding, and as none of us here are psychic, we can't be of much help. Of course, there's the added benefit that she's a strong enough psychic that I believe she'll pull some of the spiritual energy away from Dean and Aubrey, which will, of course, allow them something of a respite from the onslaught."

"Even if she agreed to come, there's no way she could be here tonight," John pointed out, dragging a weary hand down over his face.

"Yes but even a late arrival is better than no arrival at all. Still, it's your decision," Oliver told him nonchalantly. "It is yours to decide."

_Clever, leaving it to Dad that way. Dad has absolutely no power here, but Oliver's letting him think he does…hell, it's brilliant really._

"Fine," John said shortly. "I'll go put in a call to her."

"Dad, maybe I should do it," Sam heard himself say, wincing when he came out sounding a bit more insistent than he'd planned.

"Why?" John asked, just as insolently, obviously more than willing to go head-to-head again.

"Oh, here we go again," Sam heard Bobby mutter under his breath, but he paid no attention even as Jessica sighed and rolled her eyes, his attention locked solely on his father.

_Should I tell you the truth? 'Cause somehow I don't see you taking it well if I tell you that I think you'll fuck up the phone call with your temper. Then again, it'd feel really good to tell you that. _

_Shit, maybe we should just go outside and beat the hell out of each other—maybe then we'd both feel better. _

"I'm waiting, Samuel," John said, staring back at Sam with a challenge in his voice. And despite himself, Sam had never been one to turn down a challenge, especially not a challenge from his father.

"Alright, if you really wanna know, the truth is, you're being an asshole. And when you say the wrong thing to Missouri, which we all know you will, she'll tear you a new one, and _then,_ she'll hang up on you, at which point, we can forget her helping us."

"I think I'm capable of making a damn phone call."

"Without pissing her off? Because somehow I doubt it. I mean, are you even listening to yourself—you're not exactly making a great argument for yourself. You're pretty much making my case for me."

"Well isn't it just too damn bad that we're not in a fucking courtroom," his father replied acerbically.

"Why do you have to make things so damn hard?" Sam yelled, his fists tightening with frustration as his feelings of helplessness and worry, in true Winchester form, manifested once again in the form of anger.

"Sam," Jess said, laying a restraining hand on his arm.

"Hell, you act surprised, boy," Bobby said, cutting into the tension with a playful grin. "Have you ever known a Winchester who _doesn't_ make things difficult?"

John snorted, and even Sam couldn't suppress a smile.

_Truer words have never been spoken._

"I'll be nice," John said, offering a slight smile of his own before disappearing into the other room to make the call.

"I'll believe that when I see it," Bobby said after John was gone, and this time, Sam laughed outright.

"Now that the family squabbling is at an end, Samuel, perhaps you could go fetch our sister from wherever she's disappeared," Oliver announced, turning away from his last perusal of the circles to stare pointedly at Sam.

"She's not _our_ sister," Sam retorted, not really sure why he was goading Oliver but unable to stop himself nevertheless. _Too tired to watch my temper anymore, I guess._ "She's _my _sister. Mine, Dean's, and Braden's."

"Semantics. She is Braden's sister, and as I currently inhabit Braden's body, I have a certain claim on her as well. It's rather hard to argue when I'm wearing your brother's skin, don't you think?"

_Asshole. _

Because the truth was, Oliver was right. Annoyingly so. And he knew it, too.

"Now, run along and find Aubrey, boy—we're almost ready to begin," Oliver told him with a dismissive wave of his hand before turning back to the book he'd lifted from the floor.

_Condescending bastard. I'm not a fucking kid._

As he mentally girded himself to fire back a scathing reply, he caught himself, shaking his head tiredly.

_Dude. I've gotta get some sleep. I'm starting to sound like Dean. Or worse. Dad. _

Without another word, Sam sighed and headed for the stairs, deciding that sometimes, discretion really _was_ the better part of valor.

"Aub? You found anything we can use yet?" he called as he pounded up the stairs in search of her. She didn't answer, and with a sigh, Sam started searching for her room-to-room.

He found her sitting on the bed that had only a little while before had held Dean, her gaze locked on her lap as she wrung her hands nervously.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked softly, dropping down beside her.

"I figured for Dean, we could use something he already wears, his ring maybe, or that necklace you gave him a long time ago," she murmured, and the fact that she didn't answer his question didn't escape his notice.

_Still, if she wants to redirect, maybe I shouldn't push...unlike Dean, she'll open up _without_ me pushing and prodding her._

"So what are _you_ gonna use?"

"Mama's ring," she told him, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the ring hanging from a slender, gold chain around her neck.

"Sounds like a good choice," he told her somewhat awkwardly, aware of the thick, uncomfortable silence that was beginning to take hold. "So…they're just about finished downstairs. You ready?"

She looked up at him then, her eyes filling with tears, and suddenly, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his t-shirt.

"I'm scared, Sam," she sobbed, and more than anything, Sam wished he could do something.

"Hey, hey, everything's gonna be okay, Aub. Listen, I know we don't much about Oliver, but I honestly think what's he's gonna do will help us. And Braden's still in there—do you really think he'd let Oliver do anything to hurt us?"

_God, please don't let that be a lie._

"What if we don't get him back?" Aubrey asked, looking up at him with her blue-eyes teary. "What if Braden doesn't come back?"

"Shh, we'll get him back," he murmured, pulling her close, no letting her see the doubt he knew he couldn't hide completely. "We'll get him back," he said again, hugging his baby sister tightly.

_Because we have to._

Because the alternative was unbearable.

"Do you really think everything will be okay?" she asked him in a small voice.

"Yeah, I do. But if you wanna back out, you just say the word, and Dad'll call this whole thing off. We'll look for another way."

"We can't, Sam. Dean doesn't have that kind of time."

"So what do you wanna do?" he asked her gently, leaving the decision in her hands. "Will you come with me?" she asked, and for a second, she looked eight years old again, looking up at him like he could fix anything. It was the same way he had looked at Dean, Sam realized, the same way he _still_ looked at Dean.

"Yeah, Aub. I'll come with you."

Sniffling, she allowed Sam to pull her to her feet, and with her tucked securely against his side, he led the way downstairs.

"C'mon. Dad was gonna call Missouri and ask her to come. He promised he'd be nice, and I want to see if he actually managed to pull it off," he told her, trying to lighten the mood and hoping she'd go for it.

"Dad won't mess with Missouri, Sam," Aubrey said, giving him a slight smile, brave enough to go along despite her fear. "He knows better."

They shared a laugh, but it wasn't a real laugh. They both knew that what was coming wasn't anything to laugh about. Not really.

But still, come hell or high water, at least they'd all be in it together.

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much for your patience, everyone. RL interferes entirely too often with my fic-writing, and the chapters have proved more challenging for me lately. Needless to say, it's been difficult to get the chapters out in anything resembling a timely manner, and for that, I'm really sorry. Thanks so much for sticking with me! And thanks to everyone who sends me a review—you guys really make this worthwhile!

**angel871**: So glad you love the story! Oh, and in answer to your 'completely random question,' which incidentally, I don't find that random (I too, like to know mundane facts about characters), Braden's middle name is Alexander, and Aubrey's is Anne. Unless I ever decide to change them. But I don't think that'll happen.

**courtneyun**: I got such a laugh out of your review! I think I did a little better about not leaving you guys on the edge of a deep cliffy, so hopefully, you're not dying of anticipation this go round. I'm so excited that Aubrey and Braden are your current favorite OC's—that makes me so happy! Hope you'll stick around!

**ChildInMe**: Yeah, sorry about the cliffhanger of last chapter. Okay, that's sort of a lie, since I'm really not that sorry…but I _am_ sorry that you had to wait so long for it to be resolved! I'm going to try to do better…but then again, I've been saying that for at least four chapters now, and I'm so far not doing so great at speeding up my writing. Oh well…I get points for effort, right? Right?

**AJ2951**: Okay, so I'm really hoping that this chapter was worth the wait this time, because I certainly didn't intend to make you all wait a month for an update. So sorry! I didn't leave you all with such an intense cliffhanger this time, so maybe that'll make up for the last one. Maybe? Anyways, hope you're as speechless this go-round as you were last time! Thanks for the review!

**jade1056**: So glad to hear that you liked the last chapter so much—it's always so rewarding to hear when a fic can really get a person hanging on the edge of his/her seat! I'm so sorry I made you wait for so long for this chapter!! To make up for it, I didn't leave quite so bad a cliffhanger this time, and I wasn't too heavy on the suspense, so hopefully you'll forgive me. Thanks so much for the review you sent!

**Cowboy Steel**: Um…yeah. I hope you figured out a way to cope with the last chapter's cliffhanger, seeing as how I made you wait over a freakin' month for this chapter. I'm sorry about that—I hope you're still as excited as you were back in August. I suck out loud. Anyways, hope the chapter was worth the wait.

**zuimar**: So glad you feel the way you do about the long waits being worthwhile, because I made you guys wait over a month for the update. Anyways, hope you still feel that way, but I will continue to strive for quicker updates. Thanks so much for the review!

**jeps**: LOL—yeah, I'm kinda with you on the whole hurt!Dean thing—he tends to get put the wringer on a regular basis, so you can expect hurt!Dean to be a pretty regular thing. Anyways, while I didn't exactly tell you what's tagging along inside Braden, I did tell you _who_, so that's something, right? It's all a clever ploy to keep you all reading, you see—LOL, j/k! But you _are_ going to stick around, and keep reading, aren't you?

**ShinobuSaiga**: Thanks for sending a review! As you can see from this chapter, you're right about John not dealing well when one of his kids is hurt—he gets testy. Of course, Sam isn't exactly helping the situation, so it's not all John's fault…As for what's riding Braden…I didn't give you too much, but hopefully, it's enough to sate your curiosity a bit.

**HitTheRoadMack**: Thanks for the wonderful compliments! Hope you liked the new chapter as much as the old ones!

**achillies-eel**: Okay, so I didn't exactly tell you what is riding Bray, but I _did _tell you his name, so that counts for a little bit, right? And I didn't have Sam blaming Braden and Aubrey this time around…though now that you mention it, I probably should have…it would have been fitting. But I figured that there wasn't time for blame and recriminations, not with Dean in the situation that he's in. Maybe later…LOL! Thanks for the review!

**rholou**: You'll have to decide if you got satisfactory answers—I try not to give too much away too quickly. Of course, considering that it's Chapter 35 and I'm only just now starting to reveal things, you probably already figured that out. LOL! Let me know what you think!

**eggylaine**: I'm not sure if I gave you much more information on Braden's 'companion' than you had before, but I hope I answered a little bit of your curiosity at least. Perhaps I'm dragging it out a bit, but I find that I really enjoy building the suspense. Thanks for dropping me a line!

**Beccatdemon13**: Interesting that you mention you enjoy grumpy Dean more than hurt Dean—another reviewer said the opposite. But have no fear! I'm equal opportunity grumpy Dean and hurt Dean! I hope your happiness from the last chapter held you over though, since I made you wait a long time for this chapter. Sorry about that! Hope you enjoy the new chapter!

**saberivojo**: Keep me filled in on what you think of Oliver, okay? Your opinion of him is interesting to me, since you're the only reviewer to specifically say you don't think you like him. Most everyone has said they don't trust him, but no one else has said they don't _like_ him. So I'm intrigued. Has your opinion changed any now that you've gotten a little more of him?

**Hicks07**: So, yeah, I totally didn't manage to update soon. Sorry. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, despite the long wait, though! Thanks for sending me a review!

**R2M**: Intense, huh? I like that. Nice. Thanks for sending a review!


	36. Relieving the Pressure

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: I shall dedicate this chapter to AJ2951, because AJ so sweetly PM-ed me several times over this very long period between chapters. So nice, and so very encouraging! So, AJ, this one's for you! Hope you like it!

Special thanks also goes to my beta, mimishell, who always reads over everything for me. And sorry, mimishell—the book reference stayed in! LOL!

Chapter 36: Relieving the Pressure

Even though they were still there, the sudden change in volume got Dean's attention. A wave of…_something_…cascaded over him, and that quickly, the voices shifted from a deafening cacophony of shrieks and yells to something slightly more manageable. They weren't gone, certainly, but simply turning down the volume a bit after so many hours of their screaming was such a blessed relief that, for a minute, it made all the difference in the world.

"Dean? Can you hear me?"

The voice was muted, as thought it came from far away, but it was different than the rest, more…substantial. Hands gripped him, and Dean fought to respond, but his body felt heavy, and distantly, he was aware that his body was completely limp. It wasn't until he heard his sister cry out that his eyes flew open, panic lending him the strength to come to his senses.

"Whoa, whoa, easy, bro—I gotcha," he heard Sam murmur, the younger man's hands gently restraining him.

"Aubrey," Dean croaked, wincing at the rawness of his throat.

"Dad's got her—it's okay, just take it easy," Sam said soothingly, and with a groan, Dean let his head drop back to the floor. "You alright?" Sam asked, laying a hand on Dean's forehead worriedly.

"_Tell Sarah…no you…everything lost… sorry… not… too late…dammit…know you…why won't you…can hear me…do something…find it…hear me…she's there…didn't do it…"_

"Dean?" Sam asked, breaking through the murmur of voices in his mind and bringing Dean's focus back, his green-eyed gaze meeting Sam's hazel one.

"Huh?"

"You with me?"

"Um…yeah, think so," Dean mumbled, shaking his head a bit to try and ignore the voices still clamoring for his attention.

"Do you still hear them? The voices?"

"Yeah. But not so loud now."

_But still pretty fucking loud,_ he thought, listening to the voices still trying to make themselves heard.

"There's too many, Daddy," he heard Aubrey say tearfully, and he turned his head to see Aubrey clinging to their father, burying her face in his flannel shirt. "Make them stop, please, just a little bit—I can't help them, there's too many!"

"Damn it, Oliver!" John yelled back, " This wasn't supposed to happen! She's as bad off as Dean was!"

"No, this was expected, John," he heard someone reply, and the voice was unfamiliar enough to make Dean frown. "You can't expect either of them to gain control over this immediately—it's not going to happen. They need time, both of them."

_What the—_

"_Can't you do…shhh don't tell…I was fine…he's out there…it wasn't…supposed to…can't you see…I couldn't…no one listens…maybe she… they're still alive…it wasn't human…I never saw…they pretend…don't know what happened…" _

_Would everyone just shut the hell up for a minute! I can't think!_

"Well what about the fucking talismans then?" John yelled back, the words only adding to Dean's confusion. "What are you waiting for?!"

"I've reconsidered. We think it best if we hold off on that for a time in order to give Dean and Aubrey a chance to gain a measure of control first—otherwise, they won't be able to wield their gifts properly," Braden said, and something about the way he said _we_ would have bothered Dean if he didn't have people screaming at him in his head.

"And you didn't realize that _before_ we started? Look at them!" John yelled angrily.

"Dad, you're not helping," Sam broke in, staring angrily back at their dad, and it was at that moment that Dean came to the vague realization that Sam might actually know what the hell was happening.

"Sam!" he barked, grabbing his younger brother by the collar of his shirt and dragging him down to his face, desperately trying to focus on Sam's face rather than the constant harangue of voices. "What's happening?"

"Hey, hey, just calm down, okay?" Sam said, trying to pry Dean's fingers loose even as he spoke in that soothing tone that only pissed Dean off.

"Dammit, Sam, you tell me what's going on! Now!"

"We didn't know what else to do," Sam told him apologetically. "You were slipping, man, and we couldn't see any other way," he babbled, and Dean tightened his grip, shaking his brother as his patience snapped.

"You're not making any fucking sense, and I can't think with all these fucking people in my head so you need to start giving me some clear answers!" he yelled, hardly able to hear himself think as the voices continued to murmur.

_At least it's not the screaming it was before…not quite so many of them either. _

"_Ask him…to…why won't... you…it's not so hard…only a minute…" _

"We split the clairaudience between you and Aubrey," Sam was saying, Dean's momentary distraction allowing him to pull himself from Dean's grasp.

"What?"

"Oliver said the voices you're hearing are too much for just you to handle. So we split it between you and Aubrey, sort of like turning the volume down a bit so you could learn to filter it out."

"Who the hell is Oliver?!" he asked, glancing back at Aubrey, glad to see that she wasn't crying anymore but not exactly reassured by the way she cradled her head in her hands and rocked in their father's arms.

"_She can hear…can she…don't listen…it's in the house…run and don't…stop…won't let go…"_

"Braden's…tag-along."

Dean had a vague recollection, then, of his youngest brother frantically trying to tell him something earlier, his mouth moving even as the words were lost in the mess of voices all screaming at him. But there had been another voice, he recalled with sudden clarity, another voice emerging from Braden. He distantly remembered talking to it, but damn if he could remember exactly what they'd talked _about_.

"Tag-along…the voice that was piggy-backing on Bray?"

"_Just look…can't see…not enough…why don't you…killed in the…believe…"_

"Yeah. Except he's sort of more than that."

"Huh?"

_What?_

"He's more than just a voice," Sam told him.

"Then what the hell is he and why are we listening to him?!"

"Actually, we're not entirely _sure_ what he is—he hasn't exactly been forthcoming with answers in that department."

"What does Braden say?" Dean asked, closing his eyes as he fought to push the voices back into the periphery of his mind.

"Well, he's sort of…checked out at the moment."

"What the fuck does _that_ mean?!" Dean demanded, growing more and more angry and confused by the non-answers Sam was giving him. The murmurs in his mind grew louder, setting off a pounding in his head that threatened to make him throw up.

"Shit," he groaned, grabbing his head with a grimace of pain.

"Here, boy," Bobby said, suddenly appearing at Dean's elbow with a glass of water. "You're probably not far from being dehydrated—you need to get some fluids in ya'."

"I don't want water—what I want are some damn answers!" he snarled, knocking the glass away hotly, feeling a dark sense of satisfaction at the resulting shatter of glass.

"Dude, you need to calm down," Sam told him, pressing down on Dean's shoulders as he fought to rise. Dean batted Sam's hands away, glaring past the building pain in his head as he sat up.

"No, what I _need_ is for you to quit it with the vague answers and tell me what the hell has been happening!"

"_It was…never saw…couldn't make it…a noise…the end…not like that…prayed for…wasn't ready…should've listened to…sorry so sorry…strange smell…I was only…not fair…didn't know what would…that's why I can't…"_

"Dean!"

The sound of his father's voice immediately cut through the noise in his head, pulling Dean's attention around, and he turned to see his father still rocking Aubrey in his arms, his hand cupped around her ear while he cradled her head against his chest, as though he could somehow block her from the noise.

"That's enough, son. I know a lot of shit's gone down and you're confused—and I promise you, I'll explain everything to you as soon as I can. But right now, you've gotta calm the hell down because you're only making things worse."

"How 'm I supposed to calm down?!" Dean yelled hotly. "I got a bunch of fucking people in my head all talkin' at me, and I don't—"

"They'll settle down if you cease this uproar and instead focus on shielding yourself from them," Braden interrupted, and something about him immediately raised Dean's hackles.

Without conscious thought, Dean lunged forward and grabbed Braden, jerking him forward until the two of them were face-to-face, scarcely an inch between them.

"You're not my brother," Dean growled, ignoring the pounding in his head only through sheer stubbornness.

"_That_ is a matter of perspective, boy. Your brother and I are quite intricately tied together—we're virtually one in the same. Viewed in that light, I _am_ your brother."

"No, you're not! You give him his body back and you get the hell out of him! Now!"

"_Not right…human…careful…maybe who…lost…isn't something…"_

"I can't do that, I'm afraid. We're rather attached to one another—it wouldn't go well for either of us."

"Bullshit!"

"You're not helping," John said, and from the corner of his eye, Dean saw his father motioning for Sam to come over and take Aubrey. Sam complied reluctantly, and a second later, John was there, prying Dean's fingers from not-Braden's shirt, ignoring Dean's struggles as he wrapped his arms around him and eased him down.

"Dad! 's not Braden! 's not him! You gotta get him back!" he yelled back at his father, feeling a sudden, inexplicable urge to bawl as he looked back at his youngest brother, who's gaze was not his own.

_No, I can't do this! I can't lose anyone else!_

"Dean, you gotta calm down, son," John soothed, but Dean was completely incensed at that point, unwilling to back down.

"Do something, Dad! Can't you see?!"

"Honestly, there's no need for this," not-Braden said, and Dean bucked against his father's hold.

"Shut up! You're not him! Give 'im back, you sonovabitch!"

"Why do you rail against things you have no control over? This is pointless, and a waste of your energy—"

"You're making things worse here," John broke in, his eyes dark as he aimed a stern gaze at not-Braden. "Go see if you can help Aubrey get a handle on this—I've got Dean."

"Dad, no!" he begged as he watched not-Braden turn with a rueful sigh towards Aubrey. He wasn't even sure what he was asking as he fought back an unwelcome rush of tears. "Please! Can't lose Bray—no. I don't…I can't…Dad."

And all the while, the voices were there, screaming at him.

"Dean, look at me," John commanded, one of his hands coming up to cup Dean's face, turning his head so that Dean had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Listen to me. It's alright, okay? I'm gonna take care of it."

"But it's not…"

"Just focus on blocking out some of the noise in your head, yeah? Let me worry about the rest," John murmured, releasing Dean's face and rocking Dean back and forth, much like he'd done with Aubrey a few minutes ago.

"_Hold…not too..lessen the…stop…worse than…fighting doesn't…listen…not asking much…begging you…don't understand…can't stay like this…losing…no one…help us…why do you ignore…there's no one else…no…can't fight us all…only ask that…we can…you only have to…not enough…"_

"Too fuckin' many. All talkin' at once," he mumbled, dropping his head back against his father's chest.

"Dammit, Oliver, can't you just give him the damn necklace, now?! Look at him!"

"He needs to learn to control it somewhat without the aid of an external factor. Otherwise, he will be left with a dangerous Achilles heel that could leave him at the mercy of anything smart enough to rip it from his throat—if he's too dependent on the necklace, removing it from him would result in him becoming completely overcome in _minutes_. Do you really want to leave your son with such an obvious vulnerability? Really, John, I thought you were smarter than that. It's strategically unsound."

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do here?" Dean heard his father snarl, but at that point, Dean was getting so lost in the maelstrom of voices that it was all he could do to maintain even a modicum of situational awareness.

"_Make_ _him gain control, John_," not-Braden told John forcefully. "You brought him up as a soldier--give him an order, and he _will_ follow it. Mayhap it will only be temporary, but at least the order will push him to _attempt_ to gain control."

"Shit," John muttered before shifting his grip on Dean so that he was staring Dean square in the eye.

"Dean, listen to me," he heard John say, but the words seemed to slip past, lost before Dean could fully process them.

"_He...don't…lesson for…no one ever…inside a box…too cold…the ground isn't…put it…too much…three days…they don't know…woods…gone…sheltered under the…only one…can't hear me anymore…doesn't care…never find…"_

"Dean, can you hear me?" his father asked, his eyes wide as they looked back at Dean worriedly.

"Dad," he whispered, his fingers gripping his father's shirt tightly as he struggled to focus.

"Look at me, Dean. Look at me!" John said more forcefully, shaking Dean out a growing stupor long enough for Dean to lock eyes with him. "Can you hear me?"

"Yessir," Dean told him, his words slurring even as his father's hands tightened on his shoulders.

"You need to focus, do you understand me?"

"Dad…can't anymore."

"Yes, you can. And you will. Now you focus, dammit—block the voices out and get a hold of yourself."

The need to obey his father's orders was as hardwired into him as breathing, and the familiar sound of John Winchester's deep baritone was enough to cut through the noise.

But Dean knew without a doubt that it wouldn't last.

* * *

Six hours, ten minutes, and countless scrambled conversations from the dead later, Dean just wanted someone to put him out of his misery. He'd tried to sleep, but so far, it hadn't worked worth a damn. He was nursing a migraine from hell, the pounding behind his eyes offset only by the voices still hammering at his consciousness. Sure, it wasn't as bad as it had been before his dad had trusted not-Braden to perform some damn ritual that even Bobby didn't know.

_But it's still pretty damn bad. Why can't the dead just shut the hell up already? _

He was laid up on Bobby's couch, desperately trying to will away the pain while ignoring everyone else in the room. His father had sent Sam and Jessica upstairs to get some sleep hours ago. Bobby had settled in at his nearby "dining room office table" with a stack of books, no doubt trying to figure out the intricacies of the ritual that not-Braden—Dean still refused to call him by name—had pulled out of his ass. Aubrey was in Bobby's room, not-Braden at her side, claiming he would stick around long enough to ensure she was alright. If Aubrey was handling things any better, Dean couldn't say, but in theory, not-Braden was helping her deal with it all somehow. And then there was Missouri. She'd showed up an hour ago, and she'd been irritating the hell out of him ever since, ordering him to rest so that they could get to work on his shielding soon.

_You try fucking resting when you've got voices on high volume that you can't turn down._

Not-Braden had offered to stay with Dean and see if he could help him somehow gain further control, but Dean had pitched a holy fit over it, and the issue had been dropped. Dean didn't want not-Braden anywhere near him, and he wasn't exactly thrilled with his younger brother at the moment either. Truth was, he felt downright pissed at the both of them.

_He shoulda trusted me to help him, 'stead of trying to fix things with ritual shit that _I'm _paying the price for. _

"_Are you gonna…don't do it…she's not far…he'll listen…if you…maybe you can…I told you…not ready…don't ignore…he…man with…she won't believe…nobody can know…find to…show how…not hard…can I just…didn't mean to do it …"_

_Couldn't you all just shut up?! _

"_Please please…come…the only one…eyes the eyes…it was Tuesday…buried deep…tell…open the…nothing is left…"_

"Dad, could you just put me out?!" he blurted out suddenly, hating himself for begging his father to help, for admitting that he couldn't handle it anymore.

But enough was enough, and he just couldn't take it.

"Dean, I don't think it's a good idea, son," John replied, coming over to lay a gentle hand on Dean's head.

"Look, it's not a big deal," Dean told him desperately, "please, just—choke me out, knock me over the head, whatever you have to do. Just do _something_, 'cause I can't fucking take much more of this."

"Son…" And though John was shaking his head, Dean could tell his dad was weakening, and Dean could already imagine the reprieve he would soon get from the unending onslaught of noise in his head.

"John Winchester, don't you even think about it," a familiar voice said, and Dean didn't even _try_ to hold back the curses that erupted when Missouri's voice cut in. "He needs that like he needs another hole in his head," she said bluntly. "He has to learn to shield his mind properly, not depend on his father beating him over the head every time the voices get to be too much for him. Boy's got enough problems."

"Why don't you stay the fuck out of it," Dean snarled viciously, the migraine brewing in his head enough to blow any hint of manners out of the water. "Nobody fucking asked you! Dad?" he said, turning a hot gaze back on his father, turning his back on Missouri.

"Dean, I think she's right," John said, and right then, Dean was finding it very hard to resist the urge to get up and hit someone. He settled for taking out the lamp and a stack of books that Bobby had placed on the coffee table with one sweep of his arm. When the frustration and anger didn't dissipate, he grabbed the empty beer bottle someone had conveniently placed at the edge of the table, only to have his father snag his wrist in an iron grip and remove it from his hand.

"That's enough," John said softly, removing the bottle from Dean's hand and moving it out of reach before releasing Dean's hand.

"Baby, that anger isn't gonna make it any easier for you," Missouri said, not unkindly. "You need to be calm, so that you can concentrate on reinforcing your shields."

"What shields?"

"Well you obviously have _some_ shielding—not much, mind you, but about as much as the average person. Maybe a little stronger, allowing for genetics. Your daddy has rather formidable shields for someone so head-blind. You need to focus—shield your mind, but don't resist the gift."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Dean yelled, deciding that raising his voice was a bad idea when the pain in his head spiked. "Ah shit, Dad, 'm gonna—"

John barely got a trashcan under him before he started hurling, everything he'd eaten in the last twenty-four hours seeming to make an undesired reappearance.

"As much as I hate to say it, Johnny," Missouri said after he'd finished throwing up everything in his stomach, "I think you're right after all. He's not going to be able to do anything tonight," Dean heard her finish, and if he hadn't been so busy trying to stop his head from falling off, he might have been insulted by her implication that he was weak. But as it was, he flopped back against the couch pillows, willing his stomach to settle, his head to stop pounding, and the voices to shut the hell up, if only for a few minutes.

"Dean, you think you can sleep, son?" his father asked a second later, laying a gentle hand on Dean's head.

"_Can't leave…written down…can't find him… just need to go now…didn't see…too late…she's gone and…what to do…if…can't…"_

He shook his head, but it didn't make the voices go away. If anything, it made things worse, and with a groan, he grabbed at his head, wanting nothing more than to claw his brain out just to make it all stop.

"Dean!"

He didn't realize he'd started to yank on his hair until his father suddenly grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away from his head.

"Dad, I can't—" he gasped, struggling to free himself from John's grip, instinctively trying to curl into a fetal position.

"John, here," Dean heard Bobby say gruffly as he came into the room. With his eyes pinched shut tightly, Dean only knew the older man was approaching by the sound of his boots shuffling across the floor as the grizzled hunter seemed to switch places with John. The pain spiked as Dean tried to open his eyes, and he jerked in his father's grasp, fighting to free his hands as another wave of nausea threatened. John pinned one of Dean's arms to the couch cushion, and a second later, Dean felt a pinprick in the crook of his elbow.

"Easy, son, easy," John murmured, and Dean bit down on his lip to stifle what would have been a groan. A few minutes passed before he noticed, a pleasant darkness slowly pressing in on him as the pain began to recede. The voices grew quieter, as though they'd been stuffed under a layer of cotton, and even though they were still there, it was enough to allow him some reprieve.

"Let's get him upstairs, John," Bobby said softly. "We can put him with Aubrey, and then set up some protective sigils around 'em, maybe help things ease up a little, at least for a bit."

Hands suddenly lifted him, and Dean frowned, alarmed when he couldn't find the strength to even open his eyes. He felt himself being carried towards the stairs and he grunted as he tried to lift his head.

"Don't fight it, Dean, just sleep."

_Yeah. Sleep sounds good._

And as whatever his dad or Bobby had shot him up with took effect, that's exactly what Dean did, dropping off into sleep as the voices slid away from his consciousness.

* * *

A low murmur that was becoming more and more familiar slowly brought Dean into a foggy sort of awareness, the voices that had been with him once again making themselves known.

_Shit._

_At least they've turned the volume down,_ he thought groggily.

A warm weight at his side shifted, and Dean cracked his eyes open to see Aubrey looking back at him, a pained look in her eyes.

"D' you hear 'em, too?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "They loud?"

"Not like they were," she whispered back. "But they're still there. They just…don't make any sense. It's like…too many people all trying to talk at the same time, and I just keep catching fragments. It wouldn't be so bad, I think, if they'd talk one at a time. They make my head hurt."

"'m sorry," he murmured, feeling like absolute shit for bringing this on her. "I never meant for this to happen."

"'s not your fault, D. You don't hafta feel bad about it."

"You got stuck hearing fucking dead people just to save _my_ ass. That pretty much _makes_ it _my_ fault, Aubrey."

"Well, not really. I volunteered. And Daddy gave the go-ahead. You were too out of it to agree to it."

"Still. This shouldn't have happened, and Dad never would've agreed if I hadn't been too damn weak to handle it."

"It's okay, D," she said soothingly, scooting closer and laying her head on his shoulder. "I mean, yeah, this isn't fun, and it hurts. But you do all kinds of stuff for me and Bray—you look out for us, keep us safe, buy us things we don't need and that we really don't have the money for, just 'cause you like to make us happy. You do everything for me and Bray, and you never ask anything in exchange. And maybe we don't always say thanks, but…well, we notice. And we love you, D. And this time, it was my turn to do something for you."

"Yeah, well a new hunting knife or a 9mm says love just as well. You agreeing to hear dead people really wasn't what I would've had in mind for you repaying me. Shit," he grumbled, rubbing at his head wearily.

"D, in case you haven't noticed, our family is totally about that whole self-sacrificing thing. We've kinda made it an art form. I was just doing what any of us would have done," she told him matter-of-factly.

_Still. I kinda wish you hadn't. _

Because guilt was a hell of a burden to bear.

"Hey, you're awake."

Dean turned his head to see Braden standing in the doorway with a relieved look on his face. As he stepped in, Dean knew instantly that _this_ was his little brother. And an answering flood of anger filled him as Braden approached.

"Ya'll feeling better?"

_Like we have the fucking flu or something_, Dean thought hotly. _How the hell do you expect us to feel better when we have the dead yapping at us all the damn time now?_

Locking his jaw, he bit down on any response and looked away, nudging Aubrey away from him so that he could sit up. Without looking at Braden, he stood, grasping the bed for just a moment to steady himself before pushing away. A shower sounded pretty good.

But he wasn't two feet from the bed when he was suddenly bombarded with the shrieking and moaning from before. He dropped heavily to his knees, shouting as he grabbed for his head.

"Dean!" Braden leapt forward to help, but Dean shoved him away.

"Don't touch me," he growled.

"Dean?!"

Sam's familiar voice swept over Dean, and even though the voices were still screaming at him, Dean felt himself calm just a little as Sam knelt down beside him.

"Braden, what happened?"

"He crossed the barrier before I could warn him not to," Braden murmured.

"Shit," Sam muttered. "Okay. Dean, we gotta get you back to the bed, okay?"

"Wanna shower, Sammy."

"Not yet, okay? Missouri wants to start working with you and Aub on how to handle this. Until you get some measure of control, you're gonna want to stay within a few feet of the bed. Bobby's got some pretty strong sigils laid down there."

"Fuck," Dean said, allowing Sam to help him to his feet and propel him back to the bed. Before he'd even sat down, the voices quieted, returning to the low, steady drone they'd been before.

"I was gonna tell you, D," Braden said apologetically, "but you moved before I got a chance."

_Just another example of you not telling me shit that I needed to fucking know._

When he didn't reply, Braden frowned, biting his lip hesitantly.

"You mad, D?"

_What the hell do _you_ think?_

"Uh, Bray," Sam interjected, "why don't you give us a minute, huh?"

Without another word, Braden backed away, casting one last look over his shoulder before quietly shutting the door behind him. Sam waited for Braden's footsteps to recede before he turned a questioning expression on Dean.

"What was all that about?"

"Nothin'."

"That was not 'nothing,' Dean."

"You mad at Bray, D?" Aubrey asked softly.

"Why the hell _wouldn't_ I be?" Dean asked his sister incredulously.

"What do you mean?"

"Aubrey, I've got fucking dead people in my head that won't shut up. And you know what? They wouldn't be there if Braden hadn't been doing shit he never should have been messin' with. So _yeah_, I'm pissed."

"He didn't mean to, D—he was just scared. He was tryin' to figure out what was happening to him."

"Yeah, and he could've asked me for help instead of waiting for me to fucking walk right into the middle of it! I am so damn tired of all the secrets in this family! Because _guess_ what? _I'm_ the one who always gets fucked over in the end."

"Dean," Sam began, but Dean cut him off, knowing well enough that if he didn't head Sam off at the pass, his little brother would want to _emote_, to talk and share and all that other girly shit that Sam was so fond of.

"No, 'm done."

Rolling onto his side, he pulled his pillow over his head and nestled down, signaling the end of his part in the conversation.

Sam didn't try to continue, which was a fucking relief, Dean decided as he tried to ignore the whispers in his mind. Beside him, Aubrey shifted next to Dean, rolling over before finally settling, and within a few minutes, her breathing slowed, signaling that she'd fallen back to sleep.

Soft footsteps on the floor reached Dean's ears, and he frowned, wondering if Braden had decided to come back.

"Your dad sent me to check in on everyone," he heard Jessica murmur softly. "Braden came back downstairs, and he seemed upset."

"Yeah, well, Braden has bad timing, and Dean's pretty pissed off."

"Is he any better?" she asked worriedly.

"Well, he's lucid at least, so that's something, I guess. But it's gonna take awhile. Missouri's gonna have a helluva time teaching him and Aubrey how to control this shit."

"You know, you never did tell me who exactly she is," Jessica told Sam pointedly.

_An interfering pain in the ass,_ Dean thought in reply, groaning as a headache pounded at his temple.

"Dean?" Sam asked in lieu of a response to Jessica's question.

"What?" Dean mumbled through the pillow.

"I thought you were asleep—you okay?" Sam asked, and from the way his voice sounded, Dean figured he'd moved closer.

"Headache," Dean muttered as Sam lifted the pillow to stare down at him worriedly.

"Can I get you anything?" Jess asked softly, her weight settling on the bed at Dean's hip as she laid a hand on his shoulder.

_A bottle of Jack and some painkillers, maybe?_

But he didn't say that, instead grunting what he hoped would translate as a no. He closed his eyes tightly, wishing he could make it all just go away.

_But when the hell has that ever worked in _this_ family?_

"How is it that Aubrey can sleep like a baby through all this shit, when I can hardly even function?" he asked angrily, fighting back the urge to throw up as the pain in his head spiked.

"Missouri says it's because Aubrey's younger—she's not fighting it as much, and whatever shielding she has in place is still a bit…um, malleable. She's not subconsciously fighting it the way you are, so she's able to adapt better. It's probably a little more complicated than that, but that's the gist of it."

"I adapt," Dean argued moodily, vaguely aware that he sounded like an argumentative five-year-old, but not caring enough to retract his statement.

Jessica snorted, even as Sam shook his head.

"Dude, you don't adapt—you rebel. Or you bulldoze your way through anything that doesn't suit you with sheer stubbornness."

"…nobody asked you," Dean retorted.

"Dean, face it. Missouri's right—you're twenty-four, and you're pretty damn set in your ways. That's why you're having a hard time. You're fighting it."

"Of course I'm fighting it, Sam! Would _you_ want a bunch of fucking dead people screaming at you twenty-four seven?"

"Well no, but—"

"Yeah, that's what I thought. So quit it with the lectures already. I've already got a fucking headache."

"Sorry," Sam said, and when the simple apology wasn't immediately followed up by an insult, Dean determined it was sincere and so let his ready retort go unsaid. His heart wasn't really in it anyway.

_Damn, my head hurts._

He must have made some sound because a second later, soft, feminine hands settled on his temples and began to gently massage at his brow. And even though it didn't really change the fact that he had dead people in his head, it was nice to know that someone was trying to make things better for him.

"Thanks, Jess," he whispered, and before long, the rhythmic movement of her hands was enough to drown out the murmur of noise, and for a little while, he slept.

* * *

Three days, fourteen 'training sessions,' and six doses of Bobby's magic sleep juice later, Dean was no less angry at his younger brother, though he was slowly getting a handle on the voices. Sort of.

_Okay, so I haven't puked since yesterday. That's progress, right?_

To top it all off, he was antsy as hell and tired of being stuck in one place. He was sprawled on Bobby's couch, trying to take advantage of the quietness of the house by attempting to focus. Jessica had 'convinced' Sam to take her into town to shop, insisting that Sam hadn't done much in the way of picking out clothes for her to wear. The two of them had taken John's truck into town, leaving the Winchester patriarch in the company of Bobby in the study. Braden or whoever the hell he was calling himself these days had disappeared outside, up to who knew what out in the junkyard. Aubrey was with Missouri in the kitchen, the two of them doing a bit of baking as a way to distract Aubrey a bit from the voices nagging at her as insistently as the ones nagging Dean.

He'd been invited to join them, Missouri claiming that keeping his hands busy with the cookie dough would provide him with a measure of focus, but Dean refused. So she'd handed him the materials for a dream-catcher instead.

So here he was, parked on his ass in Bobby's living room, his fingers almost moving of their own accord as they wrapped the thick leather around the hoop.

_Thing's fucking huge—how's she expect me to finish this?_

"Dean?"

Slowly, he pulled his eyes away from the dream-catcher to see his father staring back at him from the doorway.

"Sir?"

"You got a minute?"

"'s not like 'm goin' anywhere, so yeah, I guess."

_If the voices in my head will stay quiet long enough for me to focus on what you're saying._

They'd almost become white noise, as the movement of Dean's hands kept him from trying to focus too hard on what they were saying. Missouri had explained that part of the reason he was having trouble was because his mind was trying to process and hear all of the voices at once—he didn't have the control to tune out all but one voice, but his brain kept trying to filter them all out. And mostly failing.

"Shield but don't resist," she'd told him, and just the memory of it had him rolling his eyes.

_Yeah, whatever the hell that means._

It was still pretty hard to be out of the protective circle Bobby had drawn around the bed, hard to focus, hard to hold the voices at bay.

Which was why Missouri had shoved the dream-catcher shit into his hands and propelled him into the living room with orders to focus his mind on the task at hand. The purpose, she'd told him firmly, was to do something that he could channel his energy into while allowing him to settle into a different mindset.

Apparently, the voices were supposed to fade into background noise as his attention shifted to his hands. Task-oriented training.

_Too bad the dead folks didn't get the memo._

Just then, his fingers slipped and the cord slipped, loosening the weave he'd been currently wrapping and somehow managing to tangle.

_Shit. Stupid-ass dream-catcher. Focus, my ass._

He could've told her he'd do just as well working on an engine from one of Bobby's clunkers, but somehow he didn't see her paying him any mind.

So far, it hadn't happened yet, and Dean wasn't altogether certain that Missouri wasn't full of shit. But still, it hadn't been a complete failure, Dean reasoned. They'd quieted a bit.

_And every little bit counts. Even if I do have to keep my attention centered on this stupid-as-hell dream-catcher._

And keeping his attention centered was a bitch. Aubrey had managed to get a better hold on her voices than Dean, and it had rankled. Nevermind that their father had reassured Dean it wasn't his fault—the ADHD made it a lot harder. But still. It was like having your younger sister beat you in…well, anything.

In fact, it had been absolute hell.

"Dean?"

_Oh yeah._

"D'you say somethin'?" he mumbled as he began to unravel the minor tangle in the cord.

"Just when I thought your attention issues couldn't get any worse," John muttered ruefully before he straightened and walked over, easing down beside Dean with a tired sigh. "We need to talk, Dean-o."

"You channelin' Sammy now, Dad?" 'Cause that's creepy as hell."

"'m serious."

"Can't talk now—gotta work on this," Dean told him, only half-kidding. He really _did _need to focus. But that wasn't his only reason. Because honestly, any conversation that started out "we need to talk" was bound to be messy and chick-flicky.

_Seriously, no._

"It'll only take a minute."

_Shit. C'mon, Dad—read the nonverbal signals I'm sending you here. Hell, read the verbal signals._

"Do we have to do this? I really don't feel like a chick-flick moment."

"It's important."

With a heavy sigh, Dean let his fingers fall still, trying to trick his brain into imagining he was still focused enough to ignore or quiet the voices.

So in all honesty, Dean wasn't _completely_ listening to his father.

At all…

"...so do you get what I'm saying?"

"Um-hmm," Dean mumbled distractedly, watching sort of absently as his fingers shifted the dream-catcher in his hands and began to move once again, working a bead seamlessly into the pattern.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"You haven't heard a damn thing I've said, have you?

Dean stilled once more, frowning as he slowly looked up at his father.

_Oops._

"Sorry."

"You need to talk to Braden, Dean," John told him bluntly, obviously having come to the conclusion that no build-up was the only way Dean was actually going to hear him.

"'s that all?" Dean asked him dismissively, refocusing on the dream-catcher as he wondered belatedly if the damn things actually worked.

"Dean," John said with a sigh, "I know you're angry at him—and I don't blame you. Hell, I'm pretty upset with him myself. But he's tearing himself up over this, and I'm not the one who can fix it. And let's face it, I seldom am."

"How are you so sure it's even him right now? How do you know it's not whoever the fuck's been possessing him?" Dean asked hotly, fighting back the surge of anger that was threatening to blow his control all to hell.

"We're ruled out demonic possession, and for the time being, Oliver hasn't manifested since the night he helped us save your ass. It's just your brother now. And _you_ need to talk to him. You hearin' me?"

"Yessir."

"So you'll talk to him?"

_Like you're giving me a fuckin' choice._

"Yessir," he said instead. "Can't right now, though. Gotta finish this or Missouri'll kick my ass," Dean told his father, wishing the excuse would grant him more than just a few hours' reprieve.

"Yeah, she will," John replied, reaching out to ruffle Dean's hair affectionately before he stood up and began to leave. "Talk to him soon, Dean," he told Dean softly before he left the room, leaving Dean to his dream-catcher.

_Shit._

_

* * *

_

Another day, three awkward-as-hell meals, and one migraine later, Dean was sitting on the front porch steps of Bobby's house, leaning wearily against a column as he halfheartedly tried to focus on his breathing and the other Zen-like bullshit that Missouri had been nagging at him to do when he heard the screen door open. It could only be Sammy, he knew without opening his eyes, the sound of heavy, Sasquatch-like footsteps telling him all he needed to know.

Without a word, his younger brother's large frame dropped onto the steps beside him, and after a moment of silence, it didn't take a genius to know that Sam had something on his mind.

"What is it, Sammy?" Dean mumbled.

"Huh?"

"We both know somethin's botherin' you, so just spit it out already."

"I wanted it to be me," Sam murmured after a minute. "I wanted to be the one to help you."

"Sammy, I—hell, man, I'm touched. Really. But dude, I wouldn't wish this shit on _anyone_, much less my little brother."

_Bad enough that Aubrey got hit with it._

"Oliver said _I_ couldn't help you."

"Did he say why?" Dean asked placidly, not bothered by Sam's statement but rather mildly curious.

"Not really. He just spouted a bunch of bullshit about me having a purpose to serve and enough trouble of my own to come. What does that even mean? What does _any_ of that mean?" Sam asked, turning worried, desperate eyes on Dean, eyes that Dean knew meant 'fix it.'

_Shit._

"Ah, look, man, I don't know. I wish I could give you some answers, but I don't know shit. You'll have to ask…_Oliver_."

_And hope for the best._

"Well aside from the fact that he's pretty much AWOL at this point, he's not exactly forthcoming with answers, Dean."

"Yeah, no shit. Kinda figured that out for myself when the bastard up and disappeared before I woke up from the drugs Dad pumped into me."

"You think Bray would know anything?"

"What, like a sort of…residual knowledge kind of thing?"

"Uh, yeah, actually," Sam said with surprise. "So what do you think? You think it's possible?"

"I dunno," Dean said, rubbing at his head wearily. The conversation was quickly wrecking the little bit of shielding Dean had been able to achieve, as his attention began to waver. "But good luck getting anything out of him—you know how he is. He's about as bad as that fucker who was possessing him."

"_Listen…family under the…look for…can't be here…trellis…watch out…wasn't a…never did…not what they say…"_

_Ah shit. Not again. _

"Yeah. But I've got to at least try. I need to know what Oliver meant. If I've got something gunning for me, I need to know because it could put Jess at risk. I can't let anything happen to her, Dean. So you know where Bray is?"

"Aub said he was out in the scrap-yard building a skateboard ramp."

"I'm guessing Dad isn't aware of that," Sam replied dryly.

"Probably not."

"You gonna tell him?"

"Nah, dude, 'm not the tattletale here—that's all you," Dean said mildly, hoping to shift Sam away from the subject of their baby brother. Truth was, he didn't want to talk about Braden at the moment. His father was already giving him the evil eye, no doubt well aware that he hadn't spoken with Braden yet.

"Jerk," Sam retorted, nudging Dean's shoulder playfully, which Dean returned with a slightly harder nudge of his own.

"Bitch."

And for the first time in what seemed like forever, it felt like things were finally like they used to be, back before Sam had left. It felt right.

_Weird, considering how fucked up things are right now._

Because he could still hear them, hovering on the periphery of his consciousness, getting louder with every passing moment, whispers clamoring for his attention as his control slipped.

"_Don't do…help…not…couldn't help him…tricked…wasn't I…was only going to…not the right one…can you…it was mine…"_

"Hey, you okay?" Sam asked, bumping his shoulder suddenly with a worried expression.

"Huh?"

"You faded out on me for a minute. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, 'm fine," he said, rubbing at his temple fruitlessly.

"Dude, that's Winchester code for 'I feel like shit but I'm too macho to say it.' And at this point, I've heard it enough that it's totally transparent."

"Bullshit."

"Uh, no it's really not. Aubrey's the only one who doesn't try to hide how she's feeling behind that utter lack of creative deflection."

"That's cause she's a girl, Sam. Sorta like you."

"So you admit it—it's a macho ploy to divert attention."

"I admit nothing," Dean said, keeping a straight face as he stared his little brother down with a cocky gleam in his eye. Because the truth was, even feeling completely craptastic, he'd missed this with his brother. Not to mention that the easy bantering kept his mind off of more unpleasant things.

_Like how I've got these voices in my head that don't know how to shut the hell up. Fuck,_ he thought, wincing when the drone of voices began to crescendo, gaining strength as Dean's failed. He still couldn't maintain any sort of shielding against them for longer than a couple of hours. Missouri said that he was doing well, his innate shields helping him tremendously, but so far Dean wasn't seeing it.

It was all just too damn draining.

"So listen…" Sam began, and Dean cringed inwardly, knowing that tone all too well. Sam was about to ruin everything by initiating a chick-flick moment. "You gonna talk to Bray any time soon?"

"Ah, dude, I'm not talking about this. Dad's already given me the lecture—"

_Most of which I wasn't actually listening to, but Sammy doesn't know that…_

"Dean, he's really upset—you haven't seen it because you've been avoiding him for the last four days, but it's really eating him up that you're angry at him."

"It's not just about me being angry, Sam," Dean retorted. "It's about my own brother not trusting me. It's about my own brother putting me through hell because he'd rather try some fucked up, archaic, bullshit ritual instead of talk to me. So I don't want to hear you lecture me about talking to him. Strategic retreat, Sam, that's what I'm doing. Because anything else is just waiting for someone else to come along and shit on me."

"Dean, he's a kid. He's a fourteen year old boy who's trying to figure out how to be a man and handle things on—"

"Are you even hearing yourself?" Dean interrupted incredulously. "You sound like a fucking Hallmark movie."

"I'm serious, man."

"Alright! I'll think about it, okay?! Just shut the hell up already," he told Sam, annoyed that he was already considering Sam's words.

Besides, it was easier to concede than continue to argue, what with the voices in his head getting louder and demanding more of his attention.

_Damn, I'm tired._

"_Can't think…are you doing…water was…couldn't see and…born in...attack…oldest daughter…not…open it…a man…nowhere to go and…listening but...lied…too small…screaming…"_

"Dean, you come on in now, you hear me?!" Missouri called suddenly from inside, and Dean winced.

_Shit._

"'m fine—'m just gonna sit with—"

"Don't you lie to me, boy," she replied, stepping out onto the porch to stare down at him sternly. "I declare, you're as bad as your father, always with that 'I'm fine' mess. Don't anybody believe you, not even that girl of Sam's who's only known you for a week, so you might as well stop trying."

Sam snickered, and Dean rammed his elbow into his little brother's side.

"Now you come on inside—you're tired, and those shields of yours don't hold well when you're tired."

_They don't fucking hold well _at all_._

"_They're still there…not okay…didn't try hard enough…gotta…home…gathering…nobody knows…hard to think…not enough…"_

"You'd better do what she says," Sam said suddenly, breaking through the voices as he gave Dean a gentle nudge. "You don't want her to come after you with a spoon."

"Hey, those things fucking hurt, dude," Dean said, even as he climbed a bit unsteadily to his feet, pretending not to notice Sam's hand on his elbow steadying him when he wavered.

Because the truth was, he needed the help, even if he hated to admit it.

* * *

Taking a deep breath and mentally steeling himself against the voices beginning to creep back up on him, Dean slowly stepped outside and headed for the junkyard, following the sounds of metal striking metal.

Rounding a '69 Ford that had seen better days, he found his youngest brother dragging what looked like an old trunk lid over to the rusted out husk of a Chevy Nova. He stilled when he sensed Dean standing there, allowing the lid to fall from his fingers as he straightened.

"'m sorry," Braden told him abruptly, never having been one to beat around the bush. "I didn't mean for anything to happen to you. I didn't mean anything by it, either—I was just trying to figure out what was happening to me."

"So why didn't you just ask me for help? Why all the secretive shit?" Dean asked, dropping down on the hood of a heap of metal that was almost unrecognizable as a car anymore.

"You already had so much on you, D—I didn't want to add any more," Braden told him softly, slowly picking his way over to Dean to settle heavily next to him with a sigh.

"Dammit, Bray, none of that matters," Dean barked, staring back at his baby brother intently. "You _always_ tell me when something's happening to you. I don't care how much shit I've got going on, if something's wrong, you come to me."

"But, D—"

"No. This family is all I've got, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let anything happen to it."

Braden was silent for a long time, and Dean had vaguely started counting all of the engines he could fix as the voices began to swirl around him.

"D?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever read _The Catcher in the Rye_?"

"Okay, random."

"Just answer the question."

"Yeah, a long time ago. Sam tricked me into it. Fucker. Why?"

"Because you remind me of the main character sometimes."

"I remind you of an anti-social teenager that's bat-shit crazy?" Dean asked dryly, quirking his eyebrow at Braden.

"No, not that part. Just…the things that he said sometimes… 'And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff,'" Braden began to recite, ' What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff—I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and _catch _them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all…' That's you, Dean. I mean, the context in the book is a little different, but…it fits, if you think about it. You're the one who stands out in front of the rest of us and tries to keep us from falling. But we just keep evading you."

It was eerily perceptive for a fourteen year old boy. The fact that he was right, too, didn't escape Dean's notice.

"So let me do my job then and quit dodgin' me. Let me catch you."

"'kay," Braden murmured, wearily leaning into Dean, who hugged him close. "I wasn't tryin' to make things hard for you," he mumbled into Dean's jacket. "I thought I could handle it," he finished, settling back beside him with a disappointed sigh.

"Yeah well…if I hadn't stepped into the circle, things might've gone differently. But damn, Bray, that shit's dangerous. Even if I hadn't fucked it all up by stepping into the middle."

"Yeah, I know," Braden grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Why didn't you at least tell Dad?"

"Dad already looks at me like I'm a freak sometimes when he thinks I'm not lookin'. I didn't wanna give him any more reasons to look at me like that. 'sides, what was I supposed to tell him that didn't sound like nine kinds of crazy. At the very least, he'd 'ave thought I was possessed."

"Are you so sure you aren't?" Dean asked slowly. "I mean, I know you're you right now, but…we don't know that Oliver actually _left._"

"I dunno what Oliver is _exactly_, but he's not a demon."

"Dude, he's somehow crammed himself inside you, he's sharin' your head-space, and he hijacks your body—that sounds pretty demonic to me."

"But besides all that, none of the clues match. He doesn't flinch at the name of God, salt-lines don't do shit to him, and I can drink holy water all day without either of us so much as blinking. It doesn't make any sense, D."

"Ah, forget I said anything—Dad and Uncle Bobby'll figure things out. In the meantime, has it said anything else since it let you have your body back?"

"No. Before…he'd sometimes whisper things to me when I was asleep or almost asleep…but since he gave me back control, I haven't heard anything from him."

"D' you think…maybe he…left?" Dean asked, rubbing his temple as he felt the stirrings of what was no doubt going to be a deluge of voices and a migraine.

"No."

"Why not?" he asked, trying to focus on the conversation instead of the murmurs that were taking shape.

"Because he's been with me for as long as I can remember. I mean, his presence has always just _been_ there with me."

"If he's been with you that long, how come you didn't notice him before?"

"_Shhhh...can…have to…'_

_Dammit. Focus.. Just need a little longer, _Dean thought as he fought to hear Braden's answer.

"I was a kid. I didn't know any different. 'sides, it was different then."

"What d' you mean?"

"I mean, if Oliver was taking over my body when I was little, I wasn't really aware of it. Or if I was, it obviously didn't bother me. I think I probably just thought it was normal."

"You know, that does sort of explain a lot of the weird shit you used to do when you were little. Hell, it explains a lot of the weird shit you _still_ do."

"Well, it didn't seem weird to me. Still doesn't," Braden told him with a slight smile. "Well, some of it anyway."

"So…are you aware now?"

"_Hurt me…not too late…you can't…sign of…not…wouldn't go…beginning of…"_

_You dead people are seriously pissing me off! Do you mind?! I'm trying to have a fucking conversation with my brother! _

"Some," Braden was saying. "It's sorta…fuzzy, like I'm half-asleep. But that last time, I sort of fell asleep, and then I wasn't aware anymore. It scared me, though, 'cause I was gone for awhile. What if I couldn't come back?"

"Could…you…fight him…for control?" Dean asked him, struggling to hold back the sea of voices that were now actively fighting his weakening control.

"Maybe. But probably not for long," Braden muttered. "It takes a lot of energy to fight him, and I have to sleep _sometime._ And when I sleep, that's when he can take complete control."

"Can he take you when you're awake now, too?"

"I dunno…I think it sort of drains him to do that, since I fight him when he tries that. If he wears me down enough, though, I think he probably could."

"_Not a demon…can't let go…Dean…a spirit…too small…hurt…not the same…"_

_Whoa, hold up. That sounded like something useful in the middle of all the bullshit. _

Agitated, Dean rubbed at his temple again, at last motivated enough to try and fine-tune his control enough to converse with the voices.

_Please let this work. Because if it doesn't, it's gonna hurt like a bitch._

Letting out a deep, even breath, Dean slowly let his shields—meager though they were—slip.

"…_boy's right… …slipped on the ice…never going to be free…it wasn't supposed to…not enough time…you're walking into…too late…listen to him…knows…I ran but it…no way out…doesn't know everything…body is gone…it was blue with daisies…not a demon…didn't wait on me…long time ago…never seen anything like it…can't fight it like the others…"_

_Okay, one at a time, _Dean thought, alarm ripping through him as they battered at him, all of them speaking at once.

_If he's not a demon, then what is he? _he found himself asking, just barely able to stabilize his control, his shields just firm enough to allow him to focus on not trying too hard to listen. Missouri had told him to sort of just ride the wave of voices and things would sort themselves out.

"_Spirit but not a spirit….Something different," _one murmured, its voice emerging out of the maelstrom of whispers and beginning to take on a distinctly male tone.

_Well, I'll be damned. Maybe the old broad knows what she's talkin' about after all._

_You don't know what it is exactly, though?_ he ventured, trying not to expect too much. Conversation with the voices hadn't worked so well before, so he told himself that expecting it to work now was being a bit too optimistic.

"_No. None of us have seen anything like it. Sorry, man."_

The apology as well as the lucidity of the response surprised the hell out of him, blowing his control to hell, just as he'd feared. The voices swarmed over him, all of them suddenly screaming at him so much that he couldn't push it away.

"Fuck!" he barked, dropping to his knees as he cradled his head in his hands.

"Dean!" Braden yelled anxiously, his voice only adding to the clamor.

He wanted to respond, but he'd been holding them all back for too long. It was too much, too hard to wrap his shields around himself again. Pain sliced through his head, leaving him reeling and trying not to vomit.

And then suddenly, Missouri was there, her hand on his shoulder as she knelt down beside him.

"C'mon, honey," she said softly. "Get your shields back in place. You can do it—you just need to focus."

And just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped. The voices dropped away—all but one—and a sudden chill went down Dean's spine as he realized the truth: the voices had gone quiet, and _he_ hadn't done a damn thing.

"_There. That's better, isn't it?"_

_Oh. Shit._

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the reviews and alerts, everyone!! Oh, and the book reference was, as noted, to J.D. Salinger's_ The Catcher in the Rye_ (quote found on p. 173 in my version). My beta absolutely loathes that book, but I couldn't resist keeping the reference in despite her protests, because it really does seem to fit Dean. Feel free to disagree if you wish. But if you haven't read it, consider giving it a try someday!

**ohgravitysonfire**: Glad you are liking the fic—you're right about it being easier to read here than on LJ. One day, I'm going to get around to posting this entire fic on LJ, but so far, it hasn't happened yet. I was going to start making changes here and there to it, but it's too hard to do that while I'm still working on actually finishing the original. Anyways, I'm pleased that you like Jess being alive. I like fics where she lives, so it made since that she survive in mine. As for your idea concerning Mary being Braden's tag-along, that was pretty interesting—it never occurred to me to go that route, but it was quite creative on your part. And since you're the only person who's really chimed in on the trinket issue, the ring it is. Thanks for the reviews you sent!

**WastedJamie**: I'm so glad that you feel that the wait is worth it, because I certainly make you guys suffer in between updates. Part of the problem is that anything less than ten or fifteen pages seems too short, so I try to go for longer chapters. Factor in real life and occasional bouts of writer's block and well…you can see the problem. Anyways, thanks for the review!

**whereinthewrld**: Thanks for the compliments you sent! As for Aubrey's clinginess…while it can be annoying, I feel like it makes her more human. And as I didn't want there to be any chance of her coming across as a Mary-Sue, I felt a major weakness such as her inability to be alone worked well for keeping her on the level of the other characters. If you think about it, Dean's actually not far off from that—granted, Aubrey's is more of a pathological fear now, but Dean tends to dislike being alone, too. Both of them have aspects of separation anxiety.

**zuimar**: Hopefully, this chapter answered some of the questions you had left over from the previous one. Sorry you had to wait so long for the answers, though! So what did you think of Missouri's appearance? Granted, she was more of an 'off-screen' character here, but I think it sort of worked well that way, since Dean's more likely to avoid her than settle nearby. Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing!

**Isolda**: Pretty sure I already replied to you…lol! In case I didn't tell you, I have noted your request for a Jessica-centered chapter. I'm not sure I can pull it off any time soon, at least not at this point in time, but there's a one-shot set in this 'verse that's from Jessica's POV. There's a link on my URL to it—it's "Of Mice and Winchesters." Again, I may have already told you that, as I'm pretty sure I replied to your review shortly after you sent it to me, but oh well. Thanks for the review in any case!

**imokit**: Thanks!

**asdfjkl;**: LOL! Nice screen name—it made me laugh. Anyways, as I was telling Isolda (above), I know several of you want a Jessica-centered chapter, but at this point, I'm not sure if I can make it work. As of right now, I think the next chapter will have to be another Dean chapter. I sort of had to end this one where I did due to time and length issues, but I wasn't really done with Dean's POV (and what happens next can only be told by him). So while I don't have current plans for a Jess chapter, I do have a one-shot set in this 'verse, called "Of Mice and Winchesters," and it's a really funny Dean vs. hamster story told from Jessica's POV. There's a link to it on my URL if you're interested. Anyways, hope this chapter fulfilled your wish for some Dean and Sam bonding time. Not a lot of it, I guess, but I tried. Anyways, thanks for the review!

**Bunty**: Thanks for reviewing! I'll keep updating if you'll keep reviewing! ;)

**PRACK**: Ah, I've missed you! I really enjoyed your point rewards system. Let me know how many points I get this time around! That's assuming of course that you were able to read the last chapter! Otherwise, I don't imagine you'll see this message any time soon! Anyways, thanks for the feedback on Chapter 34! Hope to hear from you soon! If not, have a great Christmas!

**jeps**: Your review made me laugh! "will the ritual proceed without any mishaps? i hope not especially if it involves more hurt Dean!"—LOL! A reviewer after my own heart! I hope this chapter satisfactorily fulfilled your wish for more hurtDean! Let me know how I did, okay? Thanks for the review!

**achillies-eel**: Okay, so I'm sorry to say that you'll have to wait at least one more chapter to get the real story on Oliver. Sorry! I really thought it was going to happen in this chapter…only it didn't. It would've been too much too fast if I'd tried to pull it off in this one. We'll see where the next chapter goes. Anyways, I did manage to get some Dean and Braden in here, as you requested! Let me know what you thought of the chapter, okay? I love hearing from you!

**AJ2951**: You know what I like so much about you? You don't wait for chapters to send me PMs. That's so sweet of you! Most of the time, I don't hear much from anyone between chapter updates, so it's nice to know that you've thought of me! Anyways, hope this chapter was a good one for you! Thanks for reviewing (and for PM-ing me several times)!

**rholou**: So what did you think of the ritual's outcome? Did it come across okay?

**saberivojo**: So yeah, I'm totally drawing out the whole deal with Oliver. I'm sure I'm driving everyone crazy with the questions concerning him, and I was totally going to answer them in this chapter, but it didn't work out that way. I couldn't fit everything in this time around—it would've been too much, too quickly. I'm hoping it'll be explained in the next chapter, but if not, I'm like 99% sure it'll be the chapter after that. Anyways, thanks for the review!

**eggylaine**: In all honesty, I have no idea how long this story will go on. Whether or not I'll ever get around to Sam's problems being explained is a question I can't answer at this point. I wasn't necessarily planning to go on that long, but maybe a sequel or something. We'll see. Glad you're liking Jess! I'm quite fond of her, myself! LOL! Anyways, thanks for reviewing!

**sourtneyun**: So, lots of bonding-sort of moments in this chapter—no Sam and John, but there were a lot of Dean with pretty much everybody else in this one, so what did you think? Did you like? As for finding out more about Oliver…yeah, sorry you didn't get more info, but it just wasn't going to work in this chapter. I'm hoping to get to that in the next chapter! Keep your fingers crossed! Anyways, thanks for reviewing!

**Hicks07**: So, was this chapter as intense as you were expecting? I hope so! Thanks for reviewing!

**Beccatdemon13**: You know, I like trying to picture how Aubrey and Braden would be in the episodes, too! It's fun to think about! Who would you cast to play them? Granted, they'd have to look almost identical, so maybe we'd have to pick one actor and then picture a more feminine version of him to play the other twin (or vice versa). Anyways, sorry for the long wait—thanks for being understanding and willing to wait!

**ShinobuSaiga**: Yes, I do tend to favor the cliffie type endings, don't I? But it makes it so much better when it builds anticipation like that! As for handling irritable Winchesters…yes, it does take a special kind of skill! Good thing Jess seems to have that skill as well! Anyways, thanks for the review!


	37. Psychic Fall Out

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Alright, everybody—just as a warning, you really need to watch the italics/quotation marks in this chapter. Otherwise, it might get confusing. I think I managed to make it clear who's talking/thinking, but just in case, here's the breakdown: Italics alone (_like this)_ are Dean's thoughts. Italics with quotation marks (_"like this"_) are the voice in Dean's head. Italics with single quotation marks (_'like this'_) are Dean speaking to the voice in his head.

Thanks to mimishell for being my awesome beta, as always!

Chapter 37: Psychic Fall-out

Dean's mind whirled as the implications of the lone voice in his head began to register.

"Dean, are you okay?" he heard Braden ask, even as Missouri shifted around to kneel in front of him.

_Please don't be a demon—oh shit, does hearing dead people make me vulnerable to demonic possession? Shit!_

"_Nah, man, 's not like that. Relax, would ya? You makin' me nervous."_

_What the…_

"Christo," Dean whispered, waiting with baited breath for any sign of possession. The fact that he could utter the word in the first place was promising, but still…Dean couldn't help but be skeptical.

After all, life had screwed them over more times than he could count.

"_What the fuck, man? Are you not listenin' to me? I just told you I'm not a demon—'m just a spirit. Now quit dicking around and get ya' ass up and book it for that magic hocus-pocus circle your old man and the scruffy dude hooked up for you. Maybe you're not too far gone for it to do you some damn good."_

'_You the one holdin' back all the voices?' _Dean asked, deciding to throw caution to the wind if it meant getting some answers for once.

"_Uh, _yeah_. Man, you are acting all _kinds_ of stupid today—what the hell's wrong wit' you_?"

'_Hey, it's been a long day, asshole,' _Dean retorted, annoyed by the insult even as he wondered why the hell he cared. Or why the hell he was arguing with a dead guy._ 'Look, how long can you hold 'em off?'_

"Honey, can you hear me?" Missouri asked, breaking into the inner dialogue Dean had going, her hands cupping his face as she tried to look him in the eyes.

"_Not forever, if that's what you're asking. But at least until you can get control of things on your own. 'Course, that bein' the case and all, you might wanna move your white-boy ass into the safety zone and save yourself a headache. I mean, I'm holdin' it off for now, but who knows how well that'll work? Could backfire, I suppose, but…"_

'_Right. That's so fucking helpful, I don't know where to start,' _Dean retorted sarcastically.

"I need to get inside," Dean mumbled, still reeling from the bombardment of voices from before as well as the lone voice that had made himself known in no uncertain terms. He got to his feet shakily and moved toward the house.

"Dean?" Braden called, hurrying to catch up, even as Missouri took hold of Dean's arm to help him. Honestly, he didn't need the help, but it wasn't worth the hassle to shake her off.

The fact that Missouri wasn't the type to be shaken off had also occurred to him.

Then again, as he stumbled against her, he was forced to concede that maybe he _did _need the help.

_Shit._

"How weak are your shields right now, Dean?" she asked him.

"_Like muthafuckin' steel, baby," _the voice told him proudly, and Dean couldn't help but snort in amusement.

'_Funny, that's not how it feels on this end.'_

"_That's 'cause you ain't been practicin' with _me_. You and me, man, we can work this. I'll show you how to get things done without all that dream-catcher bullshit."_

'_So you gonna tell me why I feel like shit then?'_

"_Sure, man. You feel like shit, cause you been fightin' like a bitch to keep us all out. You don't got the psychic juice to pull that shit off, at least not yet anyways."_

"You're speaking to someone, Dean—who is it?"

Missouri's voice once again jarred him back to the external world, her voice seeming far too loud to Dean's mind as he fought to refocus on what was happening outside his head.

"Dean, can you hear me?"

"Huh? Yeah," he mumbled, suddenly fighting back the urge to throw up, a sensation he'd become far too familiar with lately.

"Who is it, honey?"

"Who's who?" he asked, tripping over his feet clumsily.

"You're talking to somebody in your head-space right now—who is it?"

"I don't know what you're talkin' about," Dean told her evasively, not really sure why he didn't want to tell her but holding back nevertheless.

"Boy, I'm psychic. Now you quit tellin' me lies and answer my question. Someone's stepped forward into your conscious mind. We need to be certain that whoever it is can be trusted. Now _who is it_?"

"I dunno," Dean muttered as they mounted the stairs to Bobby's porch. "Hasn't said."

"_That's cause yo' rude ass never asked."_

_Oh. Sorry, _Dean told the voice, feeling nine kinds of stupid for apologizing to a voice in his head.

"_You should be. I'm dead—don't mean I don't have feelings."_

Dean was silent, not really knowing how to respond until the voice chuckled a second later.

"_Dude, I'm just messin' wit' you. Name's Terrence, but you can call me TK."_

Caught off guard at the voice's candor, Dean stumbled again, wishing that was the _only_ reason why he'd stumbled.

"_You are one jumpy sonuvabitch. You should switch to decaf, man." _

''_m not jumpy. And there's nothin' wrong with my caffeine intake,'_ Dean told him defensively. '_M' nerves are shot to hell is all.'_

_Can't even make my feet work. Shit. Hasn't been this bad in awhile…_

"Dean Winchester, you better answer me, boy," Missouri's voice cut in, breaking through what Dean realized must have been a long-ass silence.

"Uh…what was the question?" he asked her confusedly, tired and still half caught up in the drama going on inside his head. He almost failed to notice when he stumbled for a third time. Almost. But then, the fact that he couldn't seem to hold himself up anymore sort of clued him in.

Missouri managed to catch him before he face-planted into the floor, but he realized vaguely that the older and much shorter woman wasn't going to be able to support him for long.

"Braden, go get your father," he heard Missouri order as she shifted to hold more of his weight.

"Shit, 'm sorry," he mumbled as he struggled to keep his feet under him.

"It's alright, baby—you're doing the best you can," she told him, even as TK spoke, pulling his attention inward once again.

"_Boy, you walkin' like you're drunk off your _ass_. I ain't seen _that_ walk since—."_

'_Dude. Seriously? Trying not to puke here. You think you could keep it down for awhile.'_

"_Yeah, alright. Wuss."_

Suddenly, he felt his weight shift as his father grabbed his arm and pulled it over his shoulder to help him up the stairs.

"What happened?" John was asking, his voice at once both loud and familiar as he slowly maneuvered them to the stairs.

"'m alrigh', Dad," he muttered, realizing belatedly that he wasn't even moving his feet anymore. "Shit."

"Boy's drained his shields down to nothing," he heard Missouri tell his dad, TK now silent.

"So why isn't he puking his guts up right now? Isn't that what usually happens when he does that, the whole 'psychic fall out' deal you mentioned?"

_Oh, just give it some time, Dad. That part's coming…_

"Usually, yes," Missouri replied. "But I suspect a stronger spirit has stepped up to help him. It may be that we can avoid the backlash."

_We? I only see one of us sufferin' here, so what's all this 'we' shit?_

"Wait, _what_?" John asked, and even without looking, Dean could tell that his father's temper was gearing up.

"A spirit guide, Johnny. If the spirit's trustworthy, it's good news—I was hopeful, but I wasn't sure if Dean would be able to harness one…spirits are finicky."

"_What the hell 's she talkin' about? I ain't finicky,_" TK told Dean, obviously offended by the woman's assessment.

"Wait, so Dean's got some sort of animal helpin—"

"John Winchester, I said _spirit guide_, not _animal spirit._ Honestly, you'd think you'd know a bit more about such things. You need to start reading up on this sort of thing, so you'll know what I'm talking about. I swear, Johnny—"

"Alright, alright, I hear you—quit lecturin' me," John grumbled.

'_You still there?' _Dean asked as they edged into the room.

"_Yeah, man. Whatchu need?"_

'_You gonna stick around, keep the dead off my back for awhile?'_

"_That magic circle o' yours is a Catch-22, man—it quiets everybody a little, but it weakens me, too. Once you cross the line, bro, you on your own."_

'_Will it help?'_

"_Maybe."_

'_And when I come out of the circle?'_

"_I'll be back."_

'_Why're you helping me?'_

Unfortunately, before TK could answer, John dragged Dean across the threshold of the circle around the bed, and that quickly, the migraine that TK had apparently been helping to stave off roared in at full strength. Dean lurched away from his father and the circle, just managing to grab the trashcan sitting by the nightstand before he started to vomit.

"Fuck," he whispered when the heaving finally subsided, dropping his head wearily onto his arms, which were still braced on the top of the trashcan.

"You want me to set you up with some of that painkiller of Bobby's?" John asked as Dean slowly dropped back to his haunches with a shaky sigh.

"_Damn, man, that's just nasty."_

"Why don't you shut the hell up, man?" Dean snarled, vaguely aware that it wasn't really the spirit he was angry at, but finding TK a much easier target than anything else.

"Excuse me?" John replied, his brows lowering at the perceived insult.

"Not you," Dean muttered.

"Then who the hell are you talking to?"

"_So this is your pops, huh?"_

Dean chuckled at that, amused at the thought of John Winchester being called 'Pops.'

"Yeah. 'cept, don't ever call him that."

"Dean?"

"Sorry. 'm talkin' to the voice in my head," Dean mumbled, vaguely aware that he sounded nine kinds of crazy, but shrugging it off nonetheless, too tired to care. "'s name's TK."

"How long have you been talking to him?" John asked, his expression more than enough to tell Dean that he was uneasy with the idea.

"Um…not long. Earlier, before you pulled me into the circle," Dean replied, rubbing his head tiredly before slowly trying to get his feet under him. His father reached down and hauled him up, steadying Dean with a concerned expression.

"But you weren't talking out loud before."

"Yeah. Don't have the energy for talkin' to 'im inside my head anymore—'m fuckin' tired, Dad."

"Missouri?" he heard his father ask, "Is this safe? And hell, how do we even know this isn't the same thing that's going on with Braden? What if this is another Oliver?! I mean, how the fuck do we know that we can trust this thing?"

Leaving his dad to interrogate Missouri on the finer points of communing with spirits, Dean slowly began to make his way towards the bathroom, wanting nothing more than to brush his teeth and then burrow under some pillows and sleep.

"_Yeah, you seem pretty wiped, man. I'm having to do all the work."_

"You think you could hold the other voices back for awhile, just until I can get rid of this fuckin' migraine?" Dean asked, hating the weakness in his voice but desperate enough to beg anyway.

'_m tired of havin' to get Dad to drug me every night. 'Sides, it makes me feel like shit after I wake up..._

"_Yeah, man. I gotchu."_

"Thanks," Dean mumbled tiredly, relinquishing every bit of his control to TK, too worn out and in too much pain to care anymore.

Dean ran his toothbrush through his mouth quickly, before he headed for the stairs. The couch awaited, safely away from the circular ward that Dean had decided would only make his migraine worse as it blocked TK from helping. The problem, of course, was the stairs.

"Ah, fuck," Dean mumbled, staring down at the seemingly endless stairs that he knew well enough he didn't have the energy to go down.

"Dean?"

_Sammy. _

"What are you doing, man?" Sam asked, coming up beside him with a worried expression.

"Couch. 'm tired."

"You don't want to sleep inside the ward?"

"No."

"No?"

"'s what I said. Headache'll get worse."

"Worse? I thought it made things better."

"Not anymore. TK's helpin'."

"Who the hell is TK?"

_Fuck, Sammy—do we gotta do this now? _

"Sam." The familiar voice came from behind him, and Dean could only sigh in relief as Jessica's footsteps could be heard coming up behind him.

_If anybody has better timing than Sam, it's Jessica._

"What?" Sam asked, looking past Dean to where Jessica had appeared from the door of the spare bedroom.

"I think he's a little tired for the third degree right now. He can explain it to you later," she scolded gently, casting a soft smile at Dean before she gave Sam a gentle nudge. "Now are you gonna help him down the stairs or am I?"

"I like her, Sammy," Dean mumbled as Sam got a steady grip on Dean's arm and pulled it over his shoulder. "'s good people."

"Yeah, I like her, too, Dean," Sam told him gently as he began to lead them down the steps, Jessica following behind them.

A bunch of steps later, Dean suddenly and inexplicably found himself being laid on the couch, his brother easing his shoulder out from under his own as Dean blinked up at him confusedly.

"You need me to get a trashcan or anything?" Sam asked softly.

"Uh-uh," Dean mumbled, his eyes dropping closed as he blindly groped for another pillow to burrow under. A second later, someone gently settled one on his head, and Dean managed a heart-felt grunt in reply before he dropped swiftly and mercifully into sleep.

* * *

"So have you gotten anything out of him?"

The sound of his father's voice pulled Dean out of sleep, and with a sigh, Dean groggily shoved the pillow off his head and sat up, relieved that the migraine had vanished.

"No sir," Braden was saying, and John sighed with a frustration that Dean had long since become familiar with. "'m sorry, Dad—I can't really control him or anything. He only talks to me when he wants to."

"Have you tried… 'letting go' again, like your brother told you to?"

"Yessir, but nothing's happening."

"Dammit, Braden, we need some answers."

"John, why don't you get your panties out of a wad and give the kid a break already?" Bobby broke in gruffly.

"Bobby, I've got all kinds of weird shit attaching themselves to my kids—I don't have time to dick around here," John retorted, and Dean rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Well pestering Braden about it isn't gonna change anything," Bobby pointed out. "Look, let me see if I can find something to call Oliver up, and in the meantime, you give it a rest with the demands."

"_Your old man is one intense sonovabitch, man."_

'_Oh. Hey,' _Dean thought slowly, wondering how he'd managed to forget his 'new friend.'

"_I save your ass from the migraine from hell and all I get is a 'Oh hey'—that's just _wrong_, bro."_

'_Yeah, you're right. Sorry. 's just…this is kinda fucked up, you know? I mean, I've got a disembodied voice in my head. 's not like I've got a whole lot of experience with that sort of shit.'_

"_Alright, I'll give you that one, 'cause you got a point. So…why don'tchu tell me somethin' about you?"_

'_You're kidding, right?'_

"_Nah, man. Think about it—I'm in your head all day, might as well get to know each other, don't you think?"_

'_I guess,' _Dean told him indifferently, not particularly giving a shit at the moment but willing to play along if it meant TK continued to keep the voices at bay_._

"_Sweet," _TK said excitedly, and if he'd had a body, Dean imagined he'd be rubbing his hands together with glee.

_Weird. _

"_You first," _TK prodded when Dean didn't automatically begin.

'_Ah hell, dude, I've never been good at the whole "getting to know you" shit…just tell me what you wanna know.'_

"_How about your family—tell me about them."_

'_That's what you pick? I give you the option of asking me basically whatever the hell you want, and _that's _what you pick? I mean, hell, you've already met most of 'em. Sam's the one that helped haul my ass downstairs earlier, Braden's the younger one, and Aubrey's his twin.'_

"_Yeah, I haven't met her yet. She around?"_

'_She's somewhere. But hell, you could probably talk to her directly, since she's got some of this clairaudience shit now, too.'_

"_Oh. Good to know. Does she try to shield as damn hard as you do?"_

'_I don't think so. Pisses me off, too—she's already got a handle on this shit, and I'm still trying to tell my ass from a hole in the ground.'_

"_Oh. So…who's the hot blonde that we saw last night?"_

'_That's Jessica—she's not family, or at least not yet. She's Sammy's girl.'_

"_Do we like her?"_

'_Dude, she's nine kinds of awesome. I get it you know, why Sammy likes her so much…so yeah, we like her. She's on the DFW list for sure, but I look out for her.'_

"_DFW list?"_

'_Don't Flirt With list….the 'F' is flexible, but…Anyways, it's a small list, mind you, but Jessie has to be on it—Sammy'd be aiming that bitch-face of his at me endlessly if I flirted with her. Trust me, it's just not worth it.'_

"_Oh. So what about the old guy, Bobby. That your dad's bro?"_

'_Nah. He just sort of adopted us. But he and Dad sure fight like brothers, don't they? It's a good cover for us, and we have papers stashed in the car saying he really _is_ our uncle, just in case we need 'em.'_

"_So you got any real uncles?"_

'_Not that I know of.'_

"_So…who else should I know about?"_

'_Um, well, my sister's got a fuckin' hell-beast in the other room that I should probably warn you about.'_

"_Say what?"_

'_A hell-beast. They call it a hamster, but that thing's fuckin' evil.'_

"_So why ain't you ganked it yet?"_

'_You kiddin' me? My dad's been all over that since Aubrey _got_ the fuckin' thing. I don't have a chance.'_

"_What about your ma, man? You ain't mentioned her."_

'_Mom was killed when I was four.'_

"_Oh, sorry about that, man. The cops catch who killed her?"_

'_No. It was a demon. That's why we do what we do. Dad's been looking for the sonovabitch for a long time.'_

"_Was it random, or did it have a reason for killin' your ma?"_

'_I'm not talkin' about this anymore.' _

It was too close. Even though it had been weeks since the encounter with the demon in Sam's apartment, he still felt raw, the memories of the night his mother died still fresh in his memory.

And apparently, the memories were strong enough that TK caught a glimpse, as a second later, Dean heard a muttered curse.

"_Shit, man—you saw that when you were a little kid? That's fucked up."_

'_You stay out of my memories, you hear me?' _Dean told him coldly. '_Bring this up again, and I don't fuckin' care if it gives me a migraine, I'll park my ass inside that circle upstairs and stay there.'_

"_Alright, alright, man, I get it," _TK replied, his tone conciliatory as he settled into the back of Dean's consciousness, obviously giving Dean some space as he left him alone with memories that had never ceased to haunt him.

_It's not the ghosts and shit that I have to worry about. _

Memories were a helluva lot harder to kill.

_

* * *

_

With TK now running interference, Dean suddenly found himself able to function semi-normally for the first time in what seemed like forever.

It was a little after eleven, and everyone was beginning to settle. Dean was sitting on the couch with Sam and Jessica, absentmindedly cleaning an old carburetor while he listened to TK chatter inanely at him. The TV was on, but only Sam and Jessica seemed to be watching it, as John had his head buried in another of what Dean had hours ago decided were books of the 'absolutely useless' variety.

_Not that anybody can tell _him_ that._

The twins had wandered upstairs about fifteen minutes before, Aubrey to shower and Braden to no doubt find some way to fight sleep, a habit he'd fallen back into ever since he'd allowed Oliver to hijack his body that one time. It was like the more he thought about it, the more freaked out he was by the thought that Oliver could use him.

"_You gonna tell your pops that your bro ain't sleepin'?"_

'_I'll give it another day or two, try to talk Bray into sleeping on his own. I don't wanna bring Dad in on it if I don't have to.'_

"_You sure that's a good idea, man?"_

'_Yeah, I do,' _Dean told him, thinking of Braden's face as he'd told Dean how he didn't want Dad to look at him like he was a freak_._

"_Oh hey, man. Listen, there's this spirit chick, Cheryl. She's sorta hopin' you'll do her a favor and pass on a message to her aunt and uncle. Says she left some stuff in a safety deposit box that she wants them to have, says they really need the money to take care of her brother. And she wants her brother to have some little package she put in there for 'im."_

TK fell silent, waiting for Dean to respond, and Dean sighed, wishing that part of the deal he'd struck with the spirits didn't involve doing shit for them. Of course, he could choose not to, but then it'd be harder for TK to hold them off for as long as he did.

_And let's face it—I need to keep TK happy, 'cause if I don't, he might decide to quit helping me, and shielding this hard without him holding back the damn 'psychic fallout' still leaves me with fucking migraines. _

"_So you gonna do it?"_

'_Huh?'_

"_I said are you gonna do it? You gonna help Cheryl?"_

_Damn._

'_I'll need names and all the info you can get for me on the box,' _Dean told him after a moment_. 'You get all that from Cheryl, and yeah, I'll take care of it.'_

"_Sweet, man."_

'_You'll let her know then?'_

"_Yeah, I'll tell her…but you know, you could just as easily tell her yourself if you just stopped shielding so damn hard, man."_

'_No way, dude. One extra voice in my head is enough. 'sides, I don't trust that dropping my guard won't let twenty-eleven voices in instead of the one that I'm looking for.' So forget it. You just tell her what I said and get me the info.'_

"_Alright…but I bet your little sis could do it with her eyes closed," _TK goaded him, and if TK had a body, Dean had no doubt that he'd have a cocky smirk on his face to rival Dean's best.

'_Ah, fuck you, man—I'm taking things slow, being cautious. I want my shields to actually work right before I start trying that whole one-on-one conversing with multiple dead people.'_

"_You know, all bullshitting aside…you're not doing so bad. I mean, I haven't exactly been around a lot of people with your…talent…but I do know that this shit ain't easy, 'specially not for someone who wasn't born to it. You're doing pretty damn well, all things considered."_

And if Dean was inclined to go easy on himself, he'd admit that TK had a point. Dean had at least progressed to the point where he hardly needed Missouri's help anymore, and since TK was planning to stick around, there was no _real_ reason for Dean to stress himself out about his shields.

Still, it was a bit of a blow to the ego having to acknowledge that without TK he'd still be knocked on his ass by migraines and watching his baby sister show him up. She'd fared better from the start, taking pretty easily to Missouri's instruction on how to filter and tolerate the voices she was now hearing. In fact, except for a few moments where Dean caught her staring blankly into space—obviously turning her attention inward to listen to something—and once or twice where he'd overheard her talking aloud to seemingly no one, Aubrey seemed no different than she normally was.

"_Man, c'mon! Quit beatin' yourself up over that shit—you startin' to sound like a fuckin' broken record."_

'_So quit eavesdropping then, asshole,' Dean retorted, rolling his eyes._

"D?"

Dean looked up to see Aubrey suddenly standing in front of him, a hopeful expression on her face as she twisted a brush and a ponytail holder in her hands.

'_Ah, hell, TK—you're really fuckin' up my sense of awareness. I didn't even notice her come in!'_

"_Like that's my fault. You don't need _me_ to fuck with your attention span—you ain't got one."_

'_Two different things, dude—awareness doesn't have anything to do with attention span. And Dad can vouch for that. My attention span may not be much better than a five-year-old's, but I've got situational awareness coming out of my ass…usually. Fuck."_

"D?" Aubrey asked again, stepping right up to him to stand nose to nose with him as she stared at him intently.

"Aubrey, what the hell?! You're in my personal bubble!"

"Well, sorry, but you weren't listening to me!" she told him plaintively, Sam snorting in amusement as Aubrey stepped back with a grin.

"What do you want?" Dean asked, sparing a narrow-eyed look at Sam before looking back at Aubrey with a raised eyebrow.

"Will you braid my hair for me? Becca said she'd tell me how to do it, but I like it better when you do it."

"Who's Becca?" Sam asked as Dean sighed and set his carburetor down, motioning for Aubrey to sit down in front of him.

"Oh, she's this girl who started talkin' to me last week," Aubrey said matter-of-factly, plopping down between Dean's knees on Bobby's worn rug. "She's sixteen, and she knows a lot about stuff like that," Aubrey went on. "She died last year in a car wreck—drunk driver hit her."

Across the room, their dad looked up from his research, looking mildly unhappy at the turn of conversation.

_Not like it's a big secret that the dead are talkin' to us now, Dad. Might as well get used to it,_ he thought as he pulled the brush through Aubrey's hair once before dropping it into her lap and beginning to separate her hair into sections.

"Aubrey, I can do that for you," Jessica offered with a smile. "I'm pretty good at a French braid."

"That's okay," Aubrey said lightly. "I like when D does it—he's good, too."

"Your brother can French braid," Jessica asked in a dead-pan voice.

"Uh huh. He learned when I was nine. There wasn't anybody else who could do it, so Dean learned how."

"How'd you manage that, Dean?" Jessica asked with a quirk of her eyebrow.

"C'mon," Dean said with a playful grin, "surely you noticed what a chick magnet I am. I just asked this girl I was seeing—Stacy, I think…or maybe it was Julie…oh well, one of em. I just asked her to show me how it was done."

"That was…sweet…of you," Jessica said, shaking her head.

"Yeah, well, I got tired of listening to Aub whine about her hair not looking pretty. 'sides, it's a helluva lot easier for _everybody_ if her hair is pulled back outta the way. Get's less tangled and shit, and then we don't hafta listen to Sam bitch when Dad tells him to brush her hair."

"Dude!" Sam protested. "When are you gonna let that go already? I was thirteen! And Aubrey's hair got tangled all the damn time—you're not the one who had to listen to her cry about it."

"Yeah, because I was actually able to figure out how to run a brush through a nine-year-old's hair. So much for that big brain o' yours."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Asshole."

"_How about dickhead?!"_

'_Ah, a classic. Sure, why the hell not?'_

"Dickhead," Dean threw out, waiting for the retort that would no doubt be forthcoming.

"Shithead."

"Asswipe."

Braden appeared in the doorway a second later, looking like absolute hell in Dean's opinion, but he seamlessly joined the insult battle, throwing in a well-placed "fuck-wad" as he flopped over on the couch with a tired but sincere smile.

"Boys," John interrupted, casting a stern look at them before returning his attention to his book, and Dean shot a glance at him to make sure he wasn't looking before mouthing "ass-hat" at Sam, watching Sam sling back a silent "fuck-tard" with a glance of his own at their father.

Braden threw another one in, as Jessica looked on with a mixture of disgust and awe and tried not to laugh, while Aubrey did what she always did and ignored them as she elbowed Dean, signaling that she wanted him to finish her hair.

Dean was just tying off the end with one of the ponytail-holders he kept around his wrist and was about to toss out TK's latest insult suggestion when the phone rang, cutting through the comfortable camaraderie of a few minutes before with a suddenness that was all too familiar.

A call this late was never good.

Across the hall, Bobby emerged with a worried expression on his grizzled face as he hurried to the closest phone—the one hanging in the kitchen—his gruff voice filtering into the living room as he answered the phone.

"Hello?...Yeah, I got the whole pack of 'em here, Jim...What!?...Ah hell…You all right?...Alright, yeah, hang on, I'll put him on...yeah, I'll have him take it here in the kitchen…"

A second later, Bobby's voice yelled for John to get his ass into the kitchen and answer the phone, and Dean watched motionlessly as his father rushed out of the room, waiting only until his old man was out of the room before he lunged for the phone sitting on the coffee table beside the couch.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam asked as Dean made a move to lift the receiver.

"What's it look like I'm doing?! Now shut up—I don't want Dad to hear you," Dean told him, aiming a stern warning look at his brother before slowly lifting the receiver off the hook.

"…yeah, I'm alone, Jim, 'cept for Bobby," John was saying. "—yeah, they're all in the other room. What happened?"

"It's bad, John. I called you as soon as I got a chance, but I'm worried."

"Wait, back up—start at the beginning," John told him calmly, waiting for Jim to gather his thoughts. Dean bit his lip impatiently, well aware that whatever it was that had Jim worried could only mean things had just gotten a shit-load worse. Just as Jim was about to explain, though, John cut him off.

"Hang on, Jim. Dean, hang up the damn phone," John barked over the line, and Dean cursed under his breath, wondering not for the first time how his dad always knew.

_Maybe if I'm really quiet…_

"NOW, Dean."

"Dad, c'mon, I'm twenty-four years old—you and Pastor Jim don't have to hide shit from me."

"You're right—you _are_ twenty-four years old—too old to be eavesdroppin'. Now this is a private conversation, so hang up the damn phone, before I come in there and do it for you."

_Fuck._

"_Your old man sounds like he's about to bust yo' ass, man—I'd hang up the damn phone like the man said."_

Conceding the point, Dean muttered a well-meant expletive and hung up the phone. Staring angrily back at the receiver for a long minute, he narrowed his eyes before turning to face the others.

"Braden."

"You want me to..."

"Yeah."

Without a word, Braden hopped up from the sofa, brushing past Dean to take his place at the phone. No one moved as Braden slowly picked up the phone, shielding the mouth piece even as he placed the receiver to his ear.

"_How's this any different from you listening in? Your old man's gonna catch him—"_

'_Nah, man. Braden's a pro at this. Just wait—you'll see."_

Dean watched worriedly as Braden's face began to settle into lines of concern, and he became downright alarmed when Braden's eyes widened with the closest thing to panic Dean had ever seen on his baby brother's face.

"_Man, that's not a good look."_

'_No _shit_.'_

A painfully silent ten minutes later, Braden painstakingly lowered the phone back into the cradle before turning to face them all with a somber expression.

"Yellow-Eyes sent a demon after Pastor Jim," he told them, the dark worry in his eyes belying his calm tone. "Pastor Jim got away, but he told Dad that the demon said Yellow Eyes had plans for Sam."

"Plans for me?" Sam asked, his voice rising in alarm. "What kind of plans?" he demanded, his jaw clenching as he stared back at Braden.

"The demon didn't say—it was just taunting Pastor Jim with it, you know, like a 'I know something you don't know' sort of thing. But Pastor Jim told Dad that we should probably keep moving. 'Cause if _he_ found us, then who's to say the _demons_ won't?"

"Shit," Dean mumbled, dragging his hand down his face wearily.

"_Man, ya'll got a demon on your asses? Ya'll got more problems than I thought."_

'_Yeah, no shit, Sherlock!'_

Heavy footsteps coming down the hall marked their father's return, and with a warning look at his siblings not to say a word, Dean settled back against the couch, feigning angry indifference as he stared blankly at the television screen.

"Demon's still on our tail," John said without preamble. "We need to pack up. We're leaving tomorrow."

"Dad, I don't think we should be so quick to leave," Sam stated bluntly.

"We're not having this discussion, Samuel."

"Why not?! You can't just _decide_ that we're not even gonna talk about it. This affects _all_ of us, Dad, not just you."

"Sammy, don't," Dean said softly, cutting off the argument before it could truly start. "This isn't the time," he clarified, subtly casting his eyes in the twins' direction. With an angry sigh, Sam subsided, and Jessica cast a commiserating look at Dean as she leaned close to Sam and spoke softly to him.

"Fine. But we're not through with this," Sam bit out, casting a dark scowl at their father before subsiding into a moping silence with which Dean was pretty damn familiar.

"Sammy, would you stop with the bitch-face already," Dean grumbled. "Seriously, you look like a pissed off thirteen-year-old girl."

"Bite me, Dean."

"Really, is that all you've got? Fancy-ass law school, and that's the best you can come up with? So much for a rebuttal, huh?" he teased.

"You're an asshole, you know that?" Sam retorted, his face now a scorching red, though whether it was from anger or embarrassment, Dean was hard-pressed to say.

"Alright, enough," John cut in forcefully. "Aubrey, Braden—go to bed. And Braden, you'd better actually go to sleep, because if I come up there and find that you're faking it, I'm pulling out the sleeping pills, understand?"

'_Well, damn. I guess Dad knows more than I gave him credit for.'_

"Dad, c'mon—" Braden began but John wasn't having any of it.

"No. Now go pack your things and then get to bed."

Braden was hardly out of the room, Aubrey right behind him, before Sam started up again.

_Big surprise._

"I'm not packing a damn thing until we talk about this," he announced, and with a weary sigh, John dropped his duffel and turned to face Sam.

"Fine, Sam," John said tiredly, his non-combative tone surprising the hell out of, well, everyone.

And as if that was all he needed to hear, Sam's own tone lowered, becoming less hostile as he took a deep breath and tried, for maybe the first time ever, to have a civil discussion with their father rather than the usual screaming match.

"Dad, I think we should stay put," Sam said quietly. "We're safe here, and—"

"You don't know that," John retorted. "This demon isn't a lightweight contender, Sam, and I have my doubts that Bobby's wards will be enough to keep him out."

"Then why the hell hasn't he already come after us, huh?" Sam threw back, and Dean sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward.

_So much for _that_ lasting…_

"Who the hell knows? But I'm not gonna give him the chance. We're gonna leave first thing tomorrow, get back on the road where this thing can't track us."

"Dad, that's ridiculous—this thing's not even human! What makes you think—"

"Alright, everybody just wait a damn minute!" Bobby hollered, interrupting the growing argument. "Now it's late, we're all tired, and I don't think any of us want to listen to Winchesters bitch at each other like a bunch of old women. You two want to start that shit, you take it outside. Otherwise, shut the hell up and give us all some peace."

"_Well said, old man."_

'_Yeah, Bobby's pretty bad-ass, isn't he?' _Dean thought to TK with a grin.

"Well? We goin' outside, son?" John asked, his voice holding just a touch of challenge, and Dean winced, waiting to see if Sam was going to take him up on it.

_Odds are good that he'll take the bait. He's about as bad as the old man when it comes to that._

"Sam," Jessica said softly, laying a hand on Sam's arm. When Sam looked down at her, she shook her head minutely, giving him a gently pointed look that had Sam sighing before he settled back on the couch with a sigh. She smiled at him then, lightly kissing him before nestling back against him, casting a smile at Dean before returning her attention to the TV as though nothing had happened.

"Good," Bobby said with a nod. "Now if you all don't mind givin' the drama a rest, I've got some stuff to research. I'll be at my desk. Don't bother me," he added before he disappeared into the other room.

John caught Dean's eye, grinning as he shook his head ruefully before he changed the subject. Sort of.

"Dean, you feel up to breakin' the guns down, cleanin' them? I wanna start loading up everything that I can so that we can leave first thing in the morning."

With a nod, Dean stood, moving towards the duffel where most of the firearms were carefully placed inside. He hefted the bag and carried it towards the card table set up in the corner just for that purpose, setting it there carefully before unzipping it. As he began to lift out the various guns inside, he heard a low whistle echo through his head.

"_Damn, man, ya'll like the National Guard Armory up in here—that's a shit-load of guns, man."_

'_Yeah? You should see the trunk of my car—that's where we keep the really fun stuff, like the flamethrower and the machetes. That's some awesome shit, there.'_

"_Ya'll are some scary-ass sons-of-bitches, man."_

'_Yeah,' _Dean replied fondly, smiling a bit as he settled down with a gun in hand.

"We goin' to Jim's?" Dean asked his father softly, as his hands quickly disassembled the Beretta and began to clean it.

"I don't know yet."

Dean didn't pursue the matter any further, instead allowing his mind to sink into the task at hand. He was vaguely aware of Sam settling down beside him as Jessica went to work helping John sort through the large stack of books that he'd accumulated.

"Funny how she fits in with all this," Dean said softly, casting a look at his brother before returning his attention to the Beretta.

"Yeah," Sam said back. "It sorta gives me hope, you know."

"Hope?"

"Yeah, hope. You know, that we still have a shot at being at least quasi-normal."

"Quasi-normal? What the hell, Sam? Who _says_ that?"

"You know what I mean," Sam said, shaking his head with a hint of a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth.

"Sam, normal is way-overrated. Who the hell wants to be normal? Normal's fucking boring."

"Oh, and having crazy shit happen to you on a daily basis is so much better?"

"Hell yeah," Dean replied fervently, nodding his head even as Sam snorted in disbelief.

"Yeah, says the guy who has the dead talking to him now. Forgive me if I'm a little skeptical."

"Aw, but Sam, you don't know what you're missing," Dean said with a grin.

Sam smirked and they fell into a comfortable silence, the two of them easily managing the familiar task of cleaning the weapons. The sound of the TV blurred, becoming a comforting white noise that Dean long associated with the comfort of motel rooms, late nights, and family.

It was pretty damn nice, too.

Until Dean heard a familiar shuffle coming down the stairs fifteen minutes, one gun, and five commercials later.

_Ah shit. _

"_What's wrong?"_

'_Braden's sleepwalkin' again.' At least I hope he's sleepwalkin' and not somethin' else._

Sam looked up a split-second after Dean did, and they both stilled as Braden slowly walked into the room. Without a word, Braden stopped in the doorway, his eyes glazed over as he slowly lifted his hand, revealing the Sharpie he had clenched in his fist.

"Shit, not again," Sam murmured, glancing at Dean with a 'what the hell do we do now?' expression.

"Shut-up," Dean muttered under his breath, catching Jessica's eye as she looked up quizzically. He shook his head minutely at her while he tried to figure out what to do. A quick glance showed that his dad was well enough immersed in his research not to have noticed Braden, and if Dean had his way, he'd keep it that way.

'_TK? Can you tell if that's Braden or Oliver at the helm?'_

"_Well, the geeky-ass Star Trek sounding reference aside…yeah, that's your little bro. Damn, he's zonin' out something major—that is some true-ass sleepwalkin' right there, my man. Oliver ain't runnin' that show…what kind of pansy name is Oliver anyway?"_

'_Is it any worse than Terrence?' _Dean retorted, quietly sliding the pieces of the gun he was holding back together as he prepared to stand.

"_Oh, that's rich, coming from _you_, _Dean._"_

'_Hey, fuck you, man—there're lots of cool-ass people named Dean.'_

"_Like who?"_

'_James Dean. Dean Martin. Dean Cain.'_

"_Who the fuck is Dean Cain?" TK asked._

'_Dude, he played Superman. C'mon.'_

"_Whatever, man. Your name still sucks as much as mine does."_

'_So then, what the hell? We all have shitty names—what're you bitching about?'_

"Dean?" Sam hissed, cutting his eyes pointedly at their brother with an expression that could only be translated as 'are you going to do something or what?'

_Shit. Lost focus. _

Shaking off the distraction that was TK, Dean slowly set aside the gun and carefully stood, moving towards Braden with the idea of ushering him out of the doorway.

"Bray?" Dean murmured, casting a look at his dad to see if he'd noticed Braden. John didn't look up, writing intently in his journal and Dean breathed a slight sigh of relief, wondering what the odds were of getting Braden back to bed without his father noticing.

"_Slim to none, I bet," _TK offered.

"_Dude, shut up—you're not helping."_

Right about the time Dean reached Braden, though, the fourteen-year-old dropped to his knees on the floor, uncapping the marker with a steady hand.

"C'mon, Bray—why don't you gimme the marker and go on back to bed," Dean murmured cajolingly as he reached for the Sharpie.

"No!" Braden snapped, jerking back and turning his shoulder to protect the Sharpie.

"Dude, if you draw on Bobby's wall, he's gonna shit a brick," Dean told him lightly. "You know he likes to do his own artwork, and 'sides, he prefers the ceiling to the walls."

"_Is that really gonna work?" _TK asked skeptically.

'_Probably not. Logic doesn't really factor in with him when he's like this. I'm hoping my tone'll calm him down more than anything.'_

"Bray—" Dean began again, but the nickname had scarcely fallen from his tongue when his father's voice cut through him like a hot knife through butter.

"Dean. See if you can steer him back to bed. I'm gonna take care of it first thing in the morning."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, seriously not liking the sound of that.

"Bobby mentioned a ritual—'m gonna use it to call Oliver to the forefront, see if we can't finally get some damn answers about what the hell is goin' on with him," John said bluntly, gesturing toward Braden, who'd used Dean's distraction to begin drawing a complex set of symbols in what Dean could already tell was a circular pattern.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Dean exploded, staring back at his father disbelievingly, releasing his grip on Braden's arm to stand and meet his father head on.

"Excuse me?"

"Dad, _seriously_, haven't we had enough with the damn rituals already? I mean, look at our track record so far—we've managed to screw ourselves nine ways to Sunday with the rituals, and I don't know about _you_, but I'm not too eager to do another one."

"Dean," John began with a sigh, but Dean stepped closer, gazing back at his father with a serious expression.

"Don't do this, Dad," he said quietly, trying to tamp down on his anger so that he had at least a chance of getting through to his father. "We've been through hell lately, and fucking around with some ritual isn't gonna do a damn thing to make it better."

"So what, you think we should just sit around with our thumbs up our asses while the demon goes after people we care about, while Oliver knows something that we can use?!"

"Dad, we don't _know_ that Oliver knows jack-shit! That's just fuckin' speculation! You don't know that!"

"Well after we do this ritual, we'll know for sure, won't we?" John threw back, his own temper sparking in response to Dean's.

"_Yo, isn't bitchin' out your old man usually your brother's thing?"_

'_Shut the fuck up!" _Dean snarled back, his entire focus centering on his father, staring him down in what was one of the few 'vehement disagreements' they'd ever had.

"John, perhaps I have a solution."

Dean and his father turned simultaneously to see Missouri standing in the doorway, staring back at them with an enigmatic expression.

"I'm listening," John said slowly.

"Well, I can't be sure yet," she said slowly, "but I think Braden's having the same trouble that Dean's had—he's shielding himself a little _too _hard. The shields for this sort of gift are supposed to be somewhat flexible—you let a little through, just not enough to be overwhelming. If that's the case, all we need to do is train Braden to quit shielding so hard. Provided he can do that, then we may have a chance of talking to Oliver again without straining either one of them."

"Now wait just a damn minute," Dean interrupted before his father could reply. "I don't know about anyone else in this room, but I thought it was a _good _thing that Braden hadn't been taken over by that sonovabitch Oliver. And now you want Bray to open himself up to the damn thing?!"

"Dean, calm down."

"_Isn't that a bit ironic coming from your old man?"_

"No, just no," Dean yelled, angry that his father was even considering Missouri's idea.

"Dean," Sam broke in, "weren't you the one to tell Braden to 'let go,' to 'stop fighting' in the first place?"

Dean wheeled around, his eyes blazing as he glared back at his younger brother, incensed that the little smart-ass had the nerve to side with their father against him.

"Maybe! But you know what?! I had about a hundred fuckin' _dead_ people _screaming_ at me in my head, Sam, so you'll have to _forgive_ me if I'm a little _shaky_ on the _details_!"

"Look, what's your problem, man? How is letting Oliver in any different than the dude you've got in _your_ head?" Sam argued.

"Maybe because I know what the hell we're dealing with when it comes to the guy in my head. We know TK is a spirit—there's no question of that! Oh, and he doesn't fucking take over my body!" Dean threw back with biting sarcasm.

"Okay, I concede those points to you, but you've gotta look at the evidence, Dean—Oliver hasn't done anything to harm anyone. Hell, if anything, he's done nothing but help us since we learned of him. All of that suggests that we don't necessarily have to fear him."

"Yeah? Well you can take your evidence and shove it up your ass—you're not the one that has to watch Bray fight sleep all the damn time because he's fuckin' terrified that Oliver's gonna take him over!"

"Boys, that's enough," John broke in firmly. "Look, Dean, it's either we do this Missouri's way, or we do it my way, with a ritual that should pull Oliver to the forefront long enough for us to get some damn answers already. Frankly, Missouri's way sounds a bit easier, if not a little more time-consuming. So _you_ tell _me_, Dean—which do you prefer?" John asked pointedly.

"How about neither?" Dean retorted bitingly.

"That's not an option. Frankly, it doesn't really matter what either of you think—the decision is mine," his father said, the finality in his voice enough to tell Dean that he'd reached his limit. "I need you to get with the damn program and help me out on this."

His dad wasn't going to listen to him on this one.

It was enough to piss Dean off tremendously, and for Dean, it was the last fucking straw.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so this chapter was supposed to be the big reveal chapter for Oliver, but yeah…once again, that didn't happen. I swear, you guys, these chapters have a mind of their own—I'm just along for the ride. So I'm going to stop trying to predict when the big reveal is coming, and just let it happen when it happens. For those of you who were anxiously awaiting it in this chapter…my profound apologies to you. Regardless, thanks to all of you who reviewed!

**Hicks07**: Glad to hear you like _The Catcher in the Rye_! I haven't read any of Salinger's short stories, but I'll keep your suggestion in mind next time I hit the library. Anyways, thanks for the review and the reading suggestion!

**thedriverpicksthemusic:** Yes, I'm totally unfair about leaving you guys hanging. I like to think that the wait is worth it, but that's a lot easier for me to say, I guess, since I know what happens (to a certain extent) and you guys don't. I've gotten a start on the next chapter, and things are coming along nicely, so with any luck, you'll get a new chapter soon after this one. Hope this gave you your much needed Dean-fix. Thanks for reviewing!

**belgium-morning**: Dude, you tried to read this all in one sitting?! No wonder you had some late nights and unfinished homework! Shh, don't tell the parentals. I hope you caught up on the sleep and the homework! I'm glad to hear that you find the characters believable—I only have an older sister, so it's tricky getting the extra siblings and the sibling interaction just right. I'm also not fourteen anymore, so getting the twins to be believable isn't easy. And bless you for saying that I transitioned well from weechesters to older Winchesters—I had a lot of worries about that. As for Oliver…I can't give too much away yet, so we'll have to see how your opinion of him develops as more is revealed. Anyways, thanks for the awesomely long and lovely review!

**zuimar**: You know, sometimes, I find myself wondering that same thing—where _am_ I headed with this story? Obviously, I didn't get this chapter posted as quickly as we all hoped I would. A lot of that's my fault…but the rest of the fault lies with RL. It annoyingly interferes with everything! The good news is, I have about nine pages of Chapter 38 typed, so I'm making progress on the next chapter. Anyways, thanks for the review!

**AJ2951**: You're so wonderfully ecstatic—I like that about you. I was quite touched by your review, and I'm glad you enjoyed the _Catcher in the Rye_ bits. No worries about the lateness of your review—the lateness of my chapters more than makes us even on that one. Actually, it's probably more weighted on my end, since I've made you all wait over a month…let's change the subject back to how amazing I am. LOL! Just kidding! Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing!

**Cherry8914**: I'm sorry I left you hanging without another chapter. The good news is, I've typed about nine pages of the next chapter, and in theory, I can keep it moving along, especially once this one is posted. I'm so glad you gave my fic a chance, since you weren't sure about the extra Winchesters—I love that you "heart the twins"—that's so awesome! Thanks for reviewing and letting me know what you thought!

**YohKo Bennington**: I love getting new readers!! It takes me awhile to post new chapters, as I'm very much a believer in having at least ten pages per chapter. Anything shorter than that bugs me immensely. Anyways, I hope this took care of your curiosity concerning the spirit talking to Dean. Let me know what you think of him! Thanks for the review!

**ShinobuSaiga**: Definitely someone new. LOL! I don't know why I keep doing this to myself, the whole 'adding new characters that I'm going to have to keep up with' thing. I'm just making life difficult for myself. But I couldn't help it! TK just seemed too funny not to write in. Not so sure about Dean and Aubrey being able to tune into what's going on with Bray and Sam at this point. Maybe. I tend to not plan too far ahead—things just tend to write themselves. You'll find out shortly after I do! LOL! Thanks for reviewing!

**jeps**: Okay, so if the last chapter was an early Christmas present, this one must be like an early Easter present. Or a Lent gift. Not that one generally gets gifts during Lent…oh well, just pick a holiday. Oh, I know! A George Washington's Birthday present! Anyways…I was so happy to read that you found the _Catcher in the Rye _reference to be 'spot on.' And I was especially ecstatic to read that you find this to be your favorite story! YAY! Well, I took care of _one_ of the big questions—the spirit talking to Dean. The Oliver question…yeah. Your guess is as good as mine as to when that'll come out. It could be the next chapter, but I can't make any promises. Anyways, thanks so much for the review you sent me!!

**ohgravitysonfire**: You know, it's nice to hear that I'm not the only one who sees fics play out in their minds like a movie/episode. It always gets a little harder to do when there are original characters added in, so I hope you can still see it play out, even though it's hard to picture the twins. Hope your fears about TK are resolved now! Hope to hear what you thought of the chapter! Thanks for reviewing!!

**rholou**: I hope you still think I can 'put across something that could have been confusing as hell' after you read this chapter. It was ridiculously crazy trying to keep the punctuation straight for all of the italicized stuff going on in this chapter, and part of me is very worried about how well it'll read. Anyways, thanks for the review. Hope this 'glimpse into Dean's head' is as much fun as the last!

**courtneyu**n: I love bonding moments, too! I try to tie them in when I can. And when I can't, I smush them into one-shots! Alas, no more info about Oliver in this chapter either. Sorry about that. Hopefully, your patience will continue to hold out. Glad to hear that you like _Catcher in the Rye_, too. I should have done a poll and tracked how many of you said you liked it. Anyways, thanks so much for the review!! More bonding moments to come!

**eggylaine**: There are no pointless reviews—all reviews are fun and exciting. I'd much rather you like a chapter for no particular reason than dislike a chapter for a particular reason. So yeah. Thanks for the review! Hope you enjoyed getting more of Dean's POV!

**stoic81**: You check my page?! Really?! So often, I feel like I post updates there for no reason, so it was instantly exciting and gratifying to discover that there's someone out there who checks it. I'm going to do better about posting updates on my progress, so that you'll at least know where I'm at. I'm currently on page nine of Chapter 38, with more handwritten stuff that I haven't typed in yet. Not sure how much more I have to go, but like I said, I'll keep you up-to-date on my progress. I'm glad you found the _Catcher in the Rye _reference to be fitting, even if you didn't like the book. My beta loathes that book, so she didn't much care for the reference—LOL! Anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for reviewing!

**irishgirl9**: Yay, another reviewer who liked the _Catcher in the Rye _reference and found it fitting! I'm going to collect you guys! Honestly, I didn't even consider that whole thing about Dean losing a brother the way Holden did…yeah, I don't think that's something you need to worry about. I don't tend to kill off characters, so it would likely take something incredibly drastic for me to do that. Hmm…

**Beccatdemon13**: It's nice to hear that you think the story keeps getting better and better! I know I already messaged you, but I wanted to thank you again for the awesome ideas on who would work well for visual representations of the twins: Tyler Patrick Jones and Haley Ramm are excellent ideas. Anyways, thanks again for reviewing! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	38. Why Stand We Here Idle

A/N: To the world's awesomest beta—mimishell—and to really cool fans like you guys! Thanks for sticking around despite the long waits!

Chapter 38: Why Stand We Here Idle?

Jessica eyed Sam's older brother with a knowing look, somehow guessing that Mr. Winchester's declaration wasn't going over well with the twenty-four-year-old. She may not have known Dean for long, but she'd known him long enough to know that he was fast approaching his breaking point.

While Sam and his father had, within the first few minutes of her seeing them interact, emerged as the hotheads of the family, Jessica was beginning to realize that Dean had his own brand of the Winchester temperament. Whereas John and Sam seemed to have a 'powder-keg-ready-to-blow' sort of temper, Dean was more of a ticking time bomb, she'd decided. And watching Dean's expression darken, Jessica wasn't all too sure that his wasn't just as explosive as theirs.

_It's just a hell of a lot sneakier._

"Now Missouri, can you walk me through whatever it is that Braden needs to do so that we can still hit the road tomorrow? I want to get moving in case the demon can track us," John was saying, obviously not noticing the heated look on Dean's face.

"I think so, yes," Missouri told him after a moment. "Although Aubrey and Dean would probably be more helpful than you'd be. You're head-blind, Johnny—you'd be practically useless."

"Alright then. So they know what to do then?"

"Well, for the most part. Aubrey probably knows how to use the ability a bit more, but Dean's likely to know how to explain it better."

"How the hell is he gonna help? He needs a damn spirit guide just to keep him from a massive migraine."

_Ouch. No that wasn't a blow to Dean's pride at all,_ Jess thought dryly, wincing as she glanced back at Dean. Sure enough, his face had tightened almost imperceptibly at the unintentional insult.

_Not exactly Mr. Sensitivity, are you, Mr. Winchester?_

"He'll manage just fine—he's got more patience than you do when it comes to teaching the younger ones, and I'm sure he'll figure it out," Missouri was saying, and honestly, Jessica wished the older woman wouldn't keep encouraging Mr. Winchester, because at this point, the two of them were only making things worse. She couldn't begin to understand the intricacies of the craziness that seemed to be happening on a daily basis, but she had to agree with Dean—opening Braden up to whatever Oliver was, whether through a ritual or mental workouts, sounded pretty damn stupid to her, too.

_Not that I'm going to tell them that or anything, though. Soooooooo not getting in the middle of this._

"Alright, well, Dean, if you'll take care of that, then we'll be in a pretty good position. That actually works out pretty well, since you can do that on the road," Mr. Winchester concluded, nodding resolutely at Dean.

"Yeah, I _could_," Dean told him coldly, his jaw tight with barely-suppressed rage. "But I won't."

"Excuse me?"

_Oh. My,_ Jess thought, sucking in a breath as Mr. Winchester turned, an angry, incredulous look on his face.

"You heard me," Dean threw back, his voice losing the chilled indifference in favor of a heated rage. "You wanna open him up to whatever the hell Oliver is, that's your business! _You_ do whatever the fuck you want—you always do! But don't count on me to help you! Not on this!"

"Dammit, Dean, I need you onboard—we can't afford for you to—"

"I'm done," Dean said tightly, turning on his heel without a backwards glance, and if Jessica hadn't been watching him intently, she would have missed the slight waver in his step or the quick hand to the door frame to steady himself before he disappeared, his footsteps echoing on the stairs.

The silence reverberating through the room at Dean's refusal was telling, Jess decided. She didn't need Sam to tell her that Dean saying no to their father was an unheard of occasion in the Winchester family. No, _that_ was pretty damn obvious.

"Shit," Sam whispered, his eyes wide as he shifted his gaze to his father worriedly.

"I thought you said Dean's temper was a little more subtle," she murmured as an upstairs door slammed hard enough to rattle the house.

"Yeah…until it's not. Like, right now," Sam muttered back.

_Umm, I'd say subtlety just took a flying leap out the window, _she decided when the door slamming was followed up by the sound of something decidedly breakable shattering upstairs.

"Lamp," Sam told her knowingly, and she was left to wonder _just_ how often Sam's older brother took his anger out on poor, defenseless furniture.

"Ah, hell, John," Bobby said, reappearing in the doorway with a disgruntled expression. "Why do you hafta piss off your kids at _my_ place? That boy of yours breaks somethin' almost every damn time ya'll visit."

"What are you bitching about? He'll pay for anything he breaks—you know he's good for it."

"You're damn right he'll pay for it—odds are good that whatever he breaks ain't gonna be cheap. But that's not the point, Johnny."

"I'll go talk to him, see if I can calm him down," Sam said softly.

"No," Mr. Winchester said instead, shaking his head. "Just let him cool off. I'd rather he vent on the furniture than on you."

"John," Missouri interjected. "Sam's right about this—Dean needs to calm down sooner rather than later, and I don't think we have time for him to do it on his own. If he stays amped up for too long, those spirits are gonna get a lot harder for him to handle. That kind of anger will only hurt his control, and there's only so much his spirit guide can do for him if his control snaps completely."

"Uh, Dad," Sam said cautiously, "from the sound of things upstairs, I'd say we're pretty close to that point."

"Alright," his father replied with a sigh. "Go."

Without a word, Sam pounded up the stairs after his older brother, and Jess took a moment to wonder why no one seemed to remember that Braden was still in the room, presently occupied by whatever freaky design he was drawing on Bobby's floor.

"Perhaps I should go up there, too," Missouri said softly, but Mr. Winchester shook his head.

"No. You two are a little too oil-and-water most of the time—you'll only antagonize him at this point."

"Um…Mr. Winchester," Jessica interrupted hesitantly, biting her lip a tad nervously as John Winchester's hard gaze was turned on her.

"What?"

"I just thought you might like to know…Braden's still drawing on the floor," she pointed out with a wince.

"Dammit, John," Mr. Singer grumbled, scowling down at the design emerging on his floor. "When he's finished, if it ain't useful, you're takin' care of gettin' rid of it."

"And if it is useful?"

"Then you owe me a damn rug to cover it with. Now if that boy of yours upstairs don't calm down soon, take care of it quick, 'cause I'm goin' to bed. If ya'll are gonna bitch at each other some more, keep it down," the older man said gruffly as he left the room.

"Shit," Mr. Winchester mumbled as Jessica watched him drag a weary hand over the beard shaping his lower jaw and chin. He sighed again before turning back to Missouri. "Missouri, go on to bed—it's late. We can figure something out tomorrow—maybe Sam'll have some luck getting Dean to get with the program."

_Um, yeah, I doubt it. Sam's persuasive, sure—but not _that_ persuasive. Stubbornness comes in spades in this family, and I don't even have to be related to know that. _

Any moron could see that Dean had the same fortified-steel, mile-wide stubborn streak that the rest of them had.

Missouri seemed to share that thought, if the doubtful look on her face was anything to go by, but she didn't argue as she turned and headed upstairs.

"You should get to bed, too, Jessica," he said, eyeing Braden with an almost helpless expression that Jessica couldn't quite grasp coming from the older man. She hadn't known him for long, but he was somehow bigger than life in a lot of ways, and seeing him look so worn out was…sad.

"Mr. Winchester…maybe it's not my place, but…isn't there another way to get answers? Something that won't open Braden up to…whatever Oliver is? A way that won't upset Dean so much?"

"Jess…listen, I know you're tryin' to help, but you have to understand something here," he told her softly. "I'm not setting out to do anything that'll hurt either of my boys, but…we need answers and I'm afraid we're running out of time. Something's coming, and I don't know how to prepare for it. I tried to find out what was happening to Braden a long time ago, but I gave up on it when it didn't seem to be doing any of us any good. I let it go, and I'm realizing now that I shouldn't have. I've should've kept looking."

"Dad," Sam said, coming back into the room quietly, "I remember how it was back then—you did all you could, but there was a lot going on at the time. Dean was still recovering from all that shit with his knee and that infection, and Aubrey was a wreck. You did everything possible, but…you can't do everything, Dad."

"Maybe not. But it's hard when doing everything you can feels a whole lot like sitting on your ass doing nothing."

With a sigh, he turned and went to Braden, kneeling down to speak softly to the fourteen-year-old before he reached out and took the Sharpie from Braden's hand.

"Tomorrow, ask your brother how to get this shit off the floor."

"Fingernail polish remover," Jessica heard herself blurt out.

"What?" Sam asked at the same time as his father.

"Fingernail polish remover usually works without too much effort," she said slowly.

"Oh _man_," Sam breathed. "Dean's tried almost every cleaner on the market, and it still takes him forever to get Sharpie marks to come clean—to find out that fingernail polish remover works…man, he's gonna be _pissed_."

"Great. You can be the one to tell him," Mr. Winchester retorted as he gently pulled Braden to his feet. "Did you get him calmed down?"

"Uh, well…he made it pretty clear he didn't want me in there. I don't think I've seen him that pissed in…well…ever."

"You've been gone awhile, and he's been on a hair trigger since you took off for school."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Did he seem alright other than being pissed?" Mr. Winchester asked, changing the subject, a deflection that Jessica was intensely grateful for, because seriously, she really wasn't up to refereeing another Winchester family squabble.

"I dunno…before he shoved me out of the room, he was rubbing at his eyes, so I think it's a pretty safe bet to say he's nursing another migraine. Not that he'd admit it or anything," Sam added.

"Shit. Alright, I'll check on him later," Mr. Winchester said as he started nudging Braden towards the door.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, the steps quick and light, so it was hardly a surprise when it turned out to be Aubrey who suddenly appeared.

"Daddy, Braden's gone," she blurted out before she'd even fully breached the doorway, her voice holding a trace of panic as she twisted the hem of her sleep-shirt in her hands. "And I don't—oh," she said, heaving a sigh of relief as she suddenly spotted him standing passively beside their father. "'m sorry, Daddy…there's too much other noise in my head—I didn't hear him get up."

"That's alright. Don't worry about it."

"Do you want me to walk him back upstairs, Daddy?"

"No, baby, I've got him. Go on back to bed."

"I would, but…well, it's kinda hard to sleep—there was the door slamming, and all the stuff getting broken, and now D's throwin' up again."

"Shit," Mr. Winchester muttered, shoving his hand through his hair with what Jess could tell was abject frustration. "Alright, I'm on my way up. Go on back to bed. Sam?"

"Sir?"

"I'm gonna get Braden to bed, but keep an ear out for him just in case he gets back up and gets past me. I don't want him making it outside—Bobby hasn't replaced his last dog, so there's nothing to alert us or steer Braden back to bed. So listen out, okay?"

"Sure," Sam said with a nod.

"You two go on to bed," Mr. Winchester went on to say, an order if Jess had ever heard one.

"Yessir," Sam said obediently, the quiet acquiescence surprising the hell out of Jess, who by now had figured out that relations between Mr. Winchester and Sam were seldom that amenable.

"Night, you two," John told them gruffly before he steered Braden toward the stairs, obviously taking Sam at his word that he'd do what he was told. Of course, the lack of argument probably had something to do with that. And all she could think was, _Thank goodness._

"Hey, Sam, if you can get the couch ready, I'll go upstairs and help clean up whatever Dean broke. Your dad's tired."

"You sure you wanna do that?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," she told him, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before heading for the stairs.

"Alright, then. I'll be up to help as soon as I get the couch pulled out," Sam called after her.

"Okay," she replied, already moving to the staircase and the chaos that was no doubt still occurring upstairs.

Two minutes later, Aubrey was holding a dustpan as Jessica swept up the remains of Dean's latest explosion. Sam had been right, of course—it was a lamp, though it had seen its last for sure. Whether he'd thrown it or simply knocked it off the bedside table, Jessica still wasn't sure, but in the long run, it really didn't matter. It was just as broken either way. Braden had fallen still, deeply asleep on a pallet of sleeping bags on the floor, and across the hall, Jess could hear Mr. Winchester talking softly to Dean, who was still heaving, though honestly, he couldn't have much left in his stomach at that point, Jessica figured.

"Damn, is he still at it?" Sam murmured, looking over his shoulder as he walked into the room.

"Yeah," Aubrey told him. "This is the worst it's been in awhile. Mitchell says it's because D's so angry that his control's shot to hell—his words, not mine. TK can't keep a lid on all of it, so D's probably got another migraine."

"Who's Mitchell, Aubrey?" Jess asked, glancing curiously up at her as the fourteen-year-old paused, shoving the tail of her braid back behind her shoulder as she looked back at Jessica with a distant stare for a moment.

"He's this guy that I hear sometimes. He's been dead awhile, I think, but he won't say how or anything. But…he says hi," she added with a mischievous grin before she turned back to the last shards of the lamp.

"Damn, Aub—you should've put shoes on," Sam said, stepping forward with a worried frown as he looked down at Aubrey's bare feet. "Here, let me do it," he told her, lifting her by the arms and depositing her on the bed before kneeling down to hold the dustpan in place for Jessica. The two of them finished up pretty quickly, and with a final goodnight to Aubrey, Sam led the way back downstairs.

"You think we should've checked in with your dad and Dean?" she asked him as she changed into one of Sam's t-shirts and a pair of plaid pajama pants she'd bought a few days before.

"Nah. Dad said go to bed, and he's just tired enough that he'd likely start bitching at me for not doing what I was told."

"You'd bitch back though," she told him teasingly, and he couldn't hide the sheepish expression on his face.

"Dad and I…it's complicated."

"What's complicated about it?" she asked as she slid under the covers on the couch. "The two of you are so alike, it's almost like you're the same person, just trapped in two separate bodies."

"I'm nothing like him," Sam argued as he slid in beside her. "He's stubborn, hot-headed, secretive, and a control freak."

"Sam, you just described yourself," she said, grinning at him before she leaned forward and kissed him. "But it's okay, baby—I love you anyway."

He chuckled softly, pulling her close, and she snuggled into his side with a contented sigh, enjoying the feel of his arms around her.

"Jess?" he murmured after a long moment.

"Hmm?" she mumbled sleepily.

"I'm sorry," he told her softly as the darkness enfolded them.

"For what?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at him quizzically. "Because if this is about you keeping the whole 'my family hunts evil' thing from me, we've already talked about that—you're forgiven."

"No, that's not it. I'm talking about all of this, the shit that always seems to go hand-in-hand with my family."

"Sam, I'll be the first to admit that all of the hunting stuff is hard to take, but—"

"That's not what I'm talking about," he told her, his voice rising with frustration.

"Then, you're going to have to elaborate, because I'm not following," she told him, confused by his frustration.

"It's all of it," he said. "The yelling, the fighting, the freaky shit that always happens to us. It never ends! Part of the reason I left was because I couldn't take it anymore. And now, it's just like it was before, only now it's worse. Before, Dad and I were always at each others' throats, and if it wasn't for Dean keeping the peace, things would've been even worse. But now…it's like Dean's a totally different person sometimes. He's angry all the time it seems like—he's even taking it out on Dad! And I don't even know where to begin to deal with that! And now I've brought you into the mess and—"

"Sam," she said, laying a hand on his arm as she sat up and turned on the lamp beside them. With a sigh, Sam sat up as well, not meeting her gaze as she stared back at him intently. "Your family's going through a lot, stuff that most families never have to face. And yeah, maybe it hasn't all been smooth sailing, but I think overall, they're handling it better than most."

"You can honestly say that after having to deal with all of the fall-out, with all of the yelling and the fighting and the supernatural bullshit?"

"Yes," she said emphatically. "And despite all of the weirdness and the pee-in-your-pants terror, I love your family. Sam, I love you, and you're who you are _because_ of them, not in spite of them. So if for no other reason, I love them for that, for making you _Sam_."

"But—"

"Your family might drive a girl to drink sometimes," she went on, "but I can tell they'd do anything for you. And for me, too—just because they love you. So don't ever apologize for your family, Sam," she told him vehemently.

Sam was silent, and Jess knew it wasn't because he disagreed. No, if she knew Sam, she knew he was carefully considering what she'd said.

"Yeah, you're right," he said softly after a few moments. "It's just…everything's changing…too much, too fast, I guess. And Dean's always been the steady one; hell, he's pretty much the only stability _any_ of us had growing up. When _he_ starts losing it…none of us know what the hell we're supposed to do."

"He's not the same person that he was, just like _you're_ not the same person _you _were. Thinking that he's going to be isn't realistic, Sam. You guys just need to give him some time to figure things out."

"Well, I hope it's soon, because we need him to pull himself together. In case you haven't noticed, the rest of us don't know what to do with all the bullshit that's always going on in this family."

"Sam," she admonished, mentally shaking her head at the insensitivity in his remark. "It's not about what _you_ or the _rest of you_ need. It's about _Dean._ He's been through a lot, and I'm not just talking about these past couple of weeks—though they haven't exactly been a walk in the park, have they?" she asked him pointedly.

"Jess, I—"

"No. Now you listen to me, Samuel Winchester," she told him, vaguely aware that she was seriously channeling her mother, God rest her soul. "I think it's pretty safe to say that Dean didn't have it easy after you left for Stanford, and things sure as hell haven't gotten any easier since you and I came into the picture. Dean's doing the best he can to cope with what we _all_ know is a shitty situation, but for you to expect him to pull it together and step back into the role he had before you left isn't fair. And the fact that you want him to do it for _your _sake isn't just unfair—it's downright selfish. And that is _not_ the Sam Winchester I love. So step up and be the man I fell in love with—start _helping_ your brother instead of taking the backseat and watching him try to handle everything by himself."

"Yeah…you're right," he murmured softly after a minute, looking down with a chagrined expression.

"Of course I am," she said, bumping into him gently. "It's part of my charm," she told him with a soft smile. Chuckling, he smiled back at her, pulling her close and laying a kiss on her temple.

"I love you," he told her, resting his cheek against the crown of her head .

"I love you, too," she told him, and the truth was, she really did. More than anything.

* * *

"Dean? You thought any more about what we talked about last night?" Mr. Winchester asked the next morning as they all settled down at Bobby's crowded kitchen table for breakfast.

_And to quote every Winchester I've ever met—ah shit. _

"I think it made it pretty damn clear last night where I stand on that," Dean retorted, his voice holding just enough edge that Jessica could tell Dean was no less pissed now than he was the night before.

"Yeah, but in the long run, your feelings on the issue don't really matter all that much. I just need you to make a decision, so that I can make mine. It's either my way or Missouri's way—decide."

"Ah, Dad, c'mon," Sam interrupted before Dean could reply. "It's early as hell—do we really need to get into that right now?"

"We're leaving today, Sam. I'd like some things clear before we go," Mr. Winchester replied pointedly, his sharp gaze never straying from his oldest son, who was staring mutinously back at him.

"Daddy, what are ya'll talkin' about?"

"Nothing, sweetheart."

"Oh, c'mon, Dad, let's not keep secrets here," Dean drawled, his tone thick with biting sarcasm. "Cause we all know how much that comes back to bite us in the ass. Go on, tell her the truth."

"Dean," John said lowly, and Jessica had the uncomfortable realization that things were about to turn ugly.

"Go on, tell her how you want to offer up Braden like a fucking piece of meat so you can get Oliver to answer some questions," Dean snarled, and Jessica froze, even as Aubrey's fork fell from her limp fingers, clattering onto her plate.

"Daddy, what is he talking about?"

Jessica shot a look at Braden, watching his usually stoic expression fade into fear, a look that mirrored the one on Aubrey's face.

"Aubrey, look, it's nothing you need to worry about—your older brother's talking out of his ass."

"Am I?" Dean demanded. "Then why are you trying so hard to keep it from them?"

"Dad?" Braden asked hesitantly, his hand beginning to tremble as he slowly set his fork down, his breakfast forgotten as he gazed back at his father fearfully.

"Son, I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, alright?"

"Don't tell him that," Dean said angrily. "You don't know what the hell you'll be opening him up to!"

"You know what?" John retorted hotly, "We're done here. You shut it, and you do it fast, because I'll be damned if I'm gonna sit here and listen to you disrespect me and everyone else at this table."

"Okay, let's everybody just take a breather," Jessica said softly, the hint of steel in her voice belying the gentle tone.

_Because seriously, enough is enough._

"Let's just finish breakfast in peace."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Jess cast the evil eye at him and he settled, his gaze dropping to his plate without another word. And now that Dean had backed off, Mr. Winchester was willing to let the matter go.

_Détente at last. For the moment. Because of course we all know that it's only temporary—no doubt this'll start all over again after breakfast. Just in time to give us all indigestion. Great_, she thought as she went back to her breakfast with decidedly less enthusiasm.

Things didn't get any better after breakfast either, as it quickly became obvious that Dean was doing his damnedest to avoid his father and the conversation that the older Winchester was no doubt going to force. The toll it was taking on all of them was quickly becoming apparent and downright uncomfortable, and that was when Jessica decided to take matters into her own hands.

She found Dean in the junkyard after almost a half-hour of searching, the twenty-four-year-old slumped against the rusted-out side of a Volkswagen.

"Dean?" she asked softly, waiting for his eyes to open and settle on her before approaching him. "You okay?"

"Tryin' to be," he said tiredly.

"Are the voices giving you trouble again?"

"A little. TK's bitchin' at me, tellin' me I gotta calm the fuck down, but…"

"But you're still angry at your dad," she finished for him.

"Yeah."

"You wanna talk about it?" she asked him, knowing from Sam as well as her own observation that Dean wasn't the caring-and-sharing type, but feeling like it was worth a shot.

"Is Dad ready to go yet?" he asked, not surprising her in the least with the less-than-subtle deflection.

"Not quite. I think he's stalling, trying to figure out what to do. Honestly, I think he was hoping you'd give him some thoughts on it."

Dean's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but he didn't reply, and Jessica sighed.

_Big surprise that he's going to clam up. Emotionally repressed Winchesters—I swear, sometimes it's like talking to children. Small, socially-dysfunctional children._

"Okay, so I'm gonna give it to you straight, Dean," she told him, having finally concluded that tiptoeing around an issue in this family was tantamount to not saying a damn thing—subtle, the Winchesters were _not_. "It's probably none of my business, but I honestly think that you and your dad should quit bickering over this and ask _Braden_ what _he_ thinks. This affects him way more than the rest of you—it's only fair that you guys let _him_ make the decision."

"That's…completely fucking reasonable," Dean muttered, obviously irritated with himself for not having come to the realization on his own. "Well shit."

"It's okay, Dean," she said with a grin, patting his shoulder sympathetically. "Sam can't compete with me, either."

She waited for him to smile in return before she climbed to her feet, using Dean's shoulder for leverage before giving it a heartfelt squeeze.

"Come inside and talk to your dad, Dean."

"Too bad there's a problem with your brilliant solution," he said, a trace of bitterness leaking into his voice as he stared up at her bleakly. "Dad's not gonna listen," Dean told her, shaking his head, and from the resignation in his tone, Jess knew he fully believed that he'd only be wasting his time.

"Well then let's make him listen."

"How the hell are we gonna do that?" he asked, his voice revealing the weariness he was no doubt still trying to hide, and something told her it wasn't a physical weariness but a mental one.

"We'll overwhelm him, of course. With your voice of reason and my good looks, I'm sure we can get him to come around," she said with a mischievous grin.

"Jess, I realize you haven't known me long, but…when have I _ever_ struck you as the voice of reason?"

She snorted at that, because true enough, Dean was rarely the reasonable one.

_The paranoid or hilarious one, sure. And even the dangerous or heroic one. But reasonable? Not so much._

"Yeah, you're right," she chuckled. "Voice of un-reason, maybe. I guess I'll have to make do with a handicap then."

"Look, Jessie," he said tiredly. "I know you think you'll be able to help, but the truth is, Dad does what he wants, and nothing you or I say is gonna change that." He stood then, shaking his head. "Shit…I need some space," he told her, moving past her with his jaw set, and Jessica sighed.

_Why do they all have to be so damn stubborn?_ She thought as she watched him walk away. _Maybe I'll have better luck with Mr. Winchester…_

_Yeah, and maybe pigs will fly._

* * *

"So, Mr. Winchester," Jess began with a casual indifference she didn't feel, "I've been giving this some thought…and I think I know what we should do," she told him, purposefully using the plural pronoun to include herself.

_Wouldn't do for Mr. Winchester to feel cornered, now, would it?_

"About what?" he asked, not looking up as he continued to finish packing one of the last of the duffel bags that were set to be loaded into one of the vehicles.

"About Braden. And what to do about the whole Oliver situation."

"Jessica," he began in what she just _knew_ was about to be the mother of all patronizing tones. So she did what she did whenever Sam was foolish enough to use that tone with her and simply cut him off before he could continue.

_If I've learned anything about Winchesters, it's to head 'em off at the pass before they build up a good head of steam. Or a wall of stubbornness. Whatever comes first._

"Okay, let's not beat around the bush here. It's pretty obvious that you're torn between Ms. Mosely's plan and Mr. Singer's ritual, and Dean doesn't look like he's going to help you come to a decision any time soon. But you're missing the obvious solution here."

"And what's that?" he asked, narrowing his eyes on her with a shrewd gaze.

"Let Braden decide. Think about it—it takes the pressure off of you to make the decision, and Dean can't really stay mad at you."

"Braden's only fourteen. This is too important to leave up to a kid."

"With all due respect, Mr. Winchester, Braden's not a kid. And sometimes, I get the feeling he hasn't been a kid in a long time. He's got a lot on him, but he's handling it. I don't think you give him enough credit," she said, keeping the rebuke in her voice gentle. "This affects _him_ the most. You should trust him to make the decision that's best for _everyone_, don't you think?"

He was silent for a long time, staring back at her with an enigmatic expression on his face that she couldn't decipher, and for a second, she worried that she'd maybe overstepped her bounds a bit.

_Oh, damn._

"You remind me so much of my wife sometimes," he said, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it. "Especially when you're telling me I'm being an ass."

"Mr. Winchester, I didn't mean—" she began hastily, desperately trying to backtrack, but he held up his hand, chuckling as he shook his head ruefully.

"'s alright. I _am_ being an ass. Because damn if you're not absolutely right."

She remained silent as he dragged a hand over his beard worriedly before straightening up with a sigh and crossing to the doorway.

"Braden!" he hollered up the stairs. The sound of pounding footsteps on the stairs could be heard, and a moment later, Braden appeared in the doorway, and it wasn't hard to see the exhaustion in the fourteen-year-old's features.

"Sir?" he asked, casting a quizzical glance at Jessica before focusing his intense gaze on his father.

Deciding to leave the two of them to talk privately, she headed for the door, stopping to give the older man a one-armed hug before heading off to find Sam.

But as it was, she didn't have to. She was shutting the door behind her only to find him standing beside the door.

"What are you—"

"Shh!" He cut her off, reaching out and pulling her away from the door and behind him. Where the heck he'd come from was beyond her, as it seemed like less than a minute from the time Braden had come into the room, and the teen hadn't acknowledged anyone standing outside the door.

_Winchester stealth—I gotta hand it to them, they're pretty good at it. Still…eavesdropping is _so_ wrong._

"Sam!" she exclaimed, this time speaking in a whisper. "What are you doing?!"

"Eavesdropping," he muttered distractedly, as he placed his ear up to the door.

_Yes, I can see that, _she thought, shaking her head. And she knew it was wrong, she really did. But she really wanted to know what was going on…

So she couldn't seem to stop herself from leaning in next to Sam to listen in, too.

_Honestly, we'll find out what he decides soon enough anyway, _she rationalized, _so really what we're doing isn't so bad…oh, who am I kidding? We're so in trouble if Mr. Winchester catches us—of course, we'll just have to be extra careful not to get caught. Hopefully, Sam's stealth is greater than his dad's, and he'll know before Mr. Winchester opens the door._

"Hey, what are ya'll doing?"

Aubrey's voice came from behind them, scaring the crap out of Jessica, but not seeming to phase Sam at all except for his shushing wave at his sister.

"Eavesdropping, shut-up," he murmured, and Aubrey frowned, coming up beside Jessica with a questioning look.

"What are ya'll eavesdroppin' on?"

"Your dad's talking to Braden about what he wants to do—a ritual of Mr. Singer's, or the plan that Missouri came up."

"What's the plan?" Aubrey whispered, and Jessica cringed inwardly.

_Why the heck am I surprised that Mr. Winchester is still keeping her in the dark about this? I mean, because he's been _so_ straightforward up until now,_ she thought sarcastically.

"The ritual's supposed to let us talk to Oliver again. Missouri's idea involves working with Braden to teach him how to sort of switch control without it being so much of a fight. At least, that's what I _think_ it is."

"Guys, shut-up," Sam whispered suddenly, and Jessica turned back to him with an annoyed look, smacking his arm.

But she shut-up, putting her ear back to the door and scooting closer to Sam to give Aubrey room. With a quick grin, Aubrey slid in next to her, and together they all quieted their breathing to hear.

"So Jessica thinks I should leave the next step up to you," Mr. Winchester was saying, and obviously, they hadn't missed much despite the whispered explanation to Aubrey.

"What do you mean?" Braden asked warily.

"Bottom line: we need to talk to Oliver and there aren't too many options."

He quickly outlined both plans, and for a long moment, Braden didn't say anything. Jessica looked at Aubrey, wondering if she would be able to offer any insight into what her twin might decide to do. But Aubrey obviously didn't have any more of a clue than the rest of them as she frowned worriedly at the door.

"I wanna do both," Braden said finally, and Jessica cast a look at Sam, trying to judge what he thought of Braden's announcement. But Sam's face didn't reveal anything of what he was thinking, which annoyingly meant she was going to have to interrogate him later.

"Uncle Bobby's ritual will give us some answers _now,_" Braden was saying, "but Missouri's idea will make things easier _later_. I wanna know what the hell Oliver's all about, but I wanna learn how to control it— I can't even freakin' sleep without worryin' that Oliver's gonna 'jack my body. So let's do this ritual thing."

"You sure that's what you want?" Mr. Winchester asked, and it surprised her, honestly, because she thought for sure he'd really push for the ritual. Apparently, it surprised the hell outta Sam, too, as he looked back at her incredulously. "Dean thinks Bobby's ritual is a bad idea. I'm not saying that I agree with him, but I think it's something you need to consider before you make a decision."

"Dad…I know he's worried, and… I don't wanna make him worry any more than he already does, but…I _need _to do this."

"Alright. Let's do it, then."

Apparently, once John Winchester came to a decision about something, he wasn't one to sit on his ass. Within ten minutes of talking to his youngest son, Mr. Winchester was yelling for Dean, obviously ready to get started with whatever plan Braden had decided upon. But after just a few short minutes, it became obvious that Dean wasn't back in the house yet. Unfortunately, it quickly became obvious that he wasn't outside of it either.

See, what Jessica hadn't understood earlier was that when Dean had claimed he needed space, what he _really_ meant was that he was planning to take off. Without telling anyone.

Because nothing in the Winchester family could ever be easy.

* * *

Sadly, it took them way too long to figure out that the Impala was gone. By the time it registered, Mr. Winchester was equal parts pissed off and worried. And unfortunately, Dean wasn't answering his phone at the moment, either.

"Where the hell would he go?!" Mr. Winchester roared as he paced the floor for what Jess was sure was the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes.

"Have you tried a bar?" Braden asked nonchalantly as he carefully examined one of the wheels on his skateboard.

"Dude, it's 12:30 in the afternoon," Sam pointed out, shaking his head.

_Yeah, so much for Mr. Winchester's plans to leave this morning_, Jess thought dryly as she glanced at the clock.

"So? What does _that_ have to do with anything?" Braden was asking, and Jessica couldn't be sure, but she suspected there was just a hint of a challenge in the seemingly innocuous question.

"_So_ it's a little early to start drinking," Sam told him pointedly. "He wouldn't be at a bar at this time of day."

"He might," John muttered, frowning darkly.

"What?"

"He's been edgy lately," John said, dragging his hand down his face in a gesture that Jessica had started to become pretty familiar with at this point. "Before all this shit with the voices, I mean. He's been drinking more."

"Daddy, he wasn't drinkin' _that _much—you're exaggeratin'. It was that one time, and it was only 'cause he was tired and you weren't home to help. He wouldn't be out there gettin' drunk," Aubrey said staunchly, and Mr. Winchester sighed.

"So where would he go then, Aubrey?" Mr. Winchester went on to ask, quirking his eyebrow at his only daughter.

"How should I know?" Aubrey replied with a shrug. "He doesn't fill me in on that sort of thing. Which is good, probably, because the things Dean does in his free time isn't likely something I wanna hear," she finished with a shudder, even as Sam laughed and Braden snorted in amusement.

"Trust me, sis, you totally don't," Braden said with a crooked smile.

"Can we stay focused here?" John barked suddenly, his face dark with barely repressed frustration. "Dean's gone who-knows-where, and we don't have time to sit around with our thumbs up our asses here!"

"Dad, I'll find him alright?" Sam told his father, already reaching for the keys to John's truck.

"I'll go with him," Jessica said softly, grabbing her coat and leaving the twins to handle their father.

_That's about all I _can_ do…Not that I'm likely to be much help to _Sam_ either. It's not like I know where Dean would go._

Still, at least by going with Sam, she'd feel like she was actually contributing…

In the end, they found Dean exactly where Braden had suggested they would. It was actually Jessica that noticed the Impala sitting in the back corner of the parking lot at some run-down bar with a sign so old it was illegible.

"Son. Of. A. Bitch," Sam grumbled as he turned into the parking lot. "He'd better hope he's not drunk, because if he is, Dad's gonna kick his ass. After he tears him a new one for taking off in the first place."

As they walked in, Jessica blinked in the sudden dimness, trying to get her eyes to adjust to the lack of decent lighting that all bars seemed to share, as Sam moved on ahead. Following along behind him, she caught sight of Dean a moment after Sam did. The twenty-four-year-old was sitting alone in a dark booth in the corner, and to Jess, it seemed like the perfect set-up for a scene in an old movie.

_All Dean needs is a trench-coat and a fedora, and he'd have the whole 'angsty film noir detective' thing going for him._

She snickered at the thought as she and Sam slid into the bench-seat across from Dean, Sam eyeing the bottle of PBR on the table critically.

Dean sighed as Sam opened his mouth, dropping his head back wearily at what he obviously recognized as his younger brother gearing up for a talk that Dean would no doubt classify as a 'chick-flick moment.'

"You alright?" Sam asked softly.

"'m fine."

_Sure you are. Which is why you're sitting in a bar at two in the afternoon. Dean, you're a sweetheart, but you need to work on your lines, 'cause no one's buying that one._

"Really?" Sam asked dryly, eyeing Dean with a disbelieving quirk of his eyebrow.

"That's what I said, didn't I?" Dean snarled back, obviously not taking too kindly to his brother's skepticism.

_The raised eyebrow probably didn't help ease that any, Sam._

"Yeah? Then how come you're getting wasted at 2:00 in the afternoon?" Sam retorted, and Jessica winced outwardly.

_Okay, sure I was _thinking_ it, but I never would've actually _said_ it. _

"I'm not getting wasted—it's one fucking drink, Sam. Count it yourself," Dean threw back, gesturing angrily at the bottle as he glared back at Sam.

_It's sad that I already know where this is heading. We don't have time for the usual knockdown, drag-out that this is no doubt going to become._

"Alright, dammit!" Jessica said, surprising even herself as she slapped her hand down on the table. They froze, staring back at her with identical dumbfounded expressions. "I swear you Winchesters are the most argumentative people I've ever met in my life. I think you all just walk around in a perpetual state of readiness, just waiting for someone to piss you off so you can yell and bitch at each other."

"Hey!" Sam began, but one look from her was enough to quell whatever argument he was about to make. Or attempt to make.

_Now _talk_ to him, Sam._

But obviously, Sam wasn't getting the message, as he huffed and looked away, scowling. A subtle kick under the table was enough to get his attention, though, and after a moment of staring pointedly at him and cutting her eyes at Dean, he finally quit with the disgruntled expression and figured it out.

_Clueless. Absolutely clueless sometimes._

"So…um…look. Dad's worried," Sam began hesitantly, and Jess really had to fight the urge to bury her face in her hands at his less-than-stellar start. Dean reacted before she could though, scoffing at Sam with disbelief tinged with bitterness.

"More like pissed off, Sammy—'m not an idiot. Hell, I've been with Dad longer than anybody. I know better than anyone how he reacts to anyone fucking with his plans."

"Yeah, well then you also know that Dad's 'worry' is pretty indistinguishable from his 'pissed off.' He _is _worried, dude. And deep down, I think you know that, 'cause hell, it wasn't that long ago when you were giving _me _this speech."

"So what do you want me to do, Sam?" Dean demanded, staring back at his younger brother with a challenging look.

"Come home with us," Sam replied softly. "We need you, man."

"Dad doesn't need my help deciding what to do, because he already knows what he's gonna do," Dean sneered. "And he sure as hell doesn't need my help with whatever fucked up ritual he's already got planned."

"He let Braden decide, Dean," Jessica interjected quietly.

"What?"

"He left it up to Braden to decide."

Dean was silent after that, his fingers peeling the label off the beer bottle in front of him as he took a moment to process what she'd revealed to him.

"What did he decide to do?" Dean asked finally, the sudden question startling her after his long silence.

"He wants to go ahead with the ritual first, but he wants to learn how to control it, too," Sam answered. "But he really wants you there for the ritual."

"Why does he want _me_ there? 's not like I can help. Hell, if anything, I'm more likely to fuck it up like I did the last one. And as for the training shit, I'm pretty damn worthless on that front, too—he'd have better luck with Aubrey, 'cause I for damn sure can't control this without a fuckin' spirit to do it for me."

"C'mon, Dean—you're underestimating yourself. You're the closest thing to stable that _any_ of us have. I mean, you practically _raised_ me, and for sure you've logged more babysitting time for the twins than Dad and I combined. Sure, Dad was around sometimes—definitely more once the twins came—but not one of us has any doubts that you're the one we can rely on for _everything_. Always. Even when we fuck up. So a better question would be, why _wouldn't_ Bray want you there?"

_Well said, Sam_, Jess thought, smiling softly at Sam as she slid her hand into his, twining her fingers with his.

And apparently, it was enough for Dean as well, because without another word, Dean nodded resolutely and stood, shrugging into his coat as he dropped a few bills on the table and headed for the door.

"Nice job," Jess whispered to Sam as they fell into step behind Dean. Sam smiled down at her, throwing his arm around her shoulders and hugging her close for a second.

The parking lot was still mostly empty as they headed for the edge of the parking lot where the Impala and the GMC were waiting.

"So did you really only have the one drink?" Sam asked Dean as the older Winchester opened the driver's side door of the Impala.

"Yeah. I wasn't here long enough for more than that."

"Dude, you've been gone for hours, and I've seen you put back a beer in, like, ten seconds. And you're telling me you weren't there long enough to have more than one drink?"

"I wasn't here all that time," Dean said as he slid into the car and moved to shut the door.

"Where were you then?" Sam asked him, catching the door before Dean could shut it. "Because Jess and I have been driving all over town looking for your ass, and this is the first place we saw any sign of you. And Sioux Falls isn't that big."

"I had an errand to do."

"An errand? Seriously? What could you _possibly_ have to do _here_?"

"I didn't say I was in Sioux Falls, did I?" Dean retorted, the good mood that had returned inside the bar disappearing as quickly as it had arrived.

_Not surprising, considering how much he's been on that hair-trigger that Mr. Winchester mentioned… But still, it's only making things worse, since Sam'll no doubt respond in kind._

"Are you shittin' me?" Sam asked incredulously.

_Yep. Case in point._

"Have you lost your damn mind?" Sam continued, "With all the shit's that been going down, you're gonna leave town to do who-knows-what without telling anyone? I mean, what the hell is so important that you'd just take off without telling any of us?! When we've got a demon after us?!"

"How about my fucking sanity? That important enough for ya'?" Dean responded belligerently. "I promised this dead chick Cheryl that I'd take care of something for her, and in exchange, she'd leave me the fuck alone and move on! So why don't you back the hell off already?! I'm twenty-four years old—if I wanna fuckin' leave for awhile, I don't need anyone's permission."

"Okay, fine," Sam told him, throwing his hands up in a conciliatory fashion, even as Jessica sighed. "Shit, Dean, lighten up—it's like you're channeling a teenage girl or something—you're too damn touchy these days."

"_I'm_ touchy? That's rich coming from _you_," Dean retorted hotly.

"Guys!" Jessica interrupted, well aware that this would only escalate. "Listen," she said, softening her tone a bit. "Everyone's waiting for us back at the house. We don't have time for this now."

Dean stared at her for a second, and Jessica wondered if he was about to argue with her, but then his face softened and he aimed a familiar smirk at her.

"Or we could do this now and stall Dad for a little longer," he suggested, a mischievous gleam in his eye that Jess had no doubt had led to trouble for nigh on twenty years now.

"Dream on, dude," Sam replied with an answering grin, and Jessica could only shake her head. Brothers. She'd never really quite get it.

"Yeah, you're right," Dean said with a sigh. "Now let go of my door, bitch—'s like you said, we better haul ass or Dad's gonna be pissed. Well, more pissed than he already is."

And that quickly, she mused, Dean was okay. Or at least as okay as he could be under the circumstances. A moment later, Sam was holding the passenger-side door of his father's massive truck open for her, and as she climbed in and they followed Dean out of the parking lot, it seemed like everything was alright. And even if it was only an illusion, right then, that was enough.

* * *

A/N: Yes, fingernail polish remover _does_ get rid of Sharpies. I have experimented with it myself—took it right off of a notebook. Heh. Anyways, thanks everyone for your awesome patience and your wonderful feedback!

**irishgirl9**: I'm not sure yet if TK's backstory will ever surface. TBH, I don't know that I've given his past much thought. I'm open to suggestions on that front, if you have something in mind that you'd like to see. I can't make any promises, as I'm not sure yet where things are going, but I will definitely try. Thanks for the review!

**ohgravitysonfire**: Dude, you totally nailed the mental image of TK that I was trying to put across. Thanks so much for letting me know! I had a good time putting their dialogue together—they've got an easy relationship, so it flows easily. Hope you liked the Jess chapter. Thanks for the review!

**rholou**: Oh ye, of little faith. LOL! Just kidding. If you'd really like to know whether TK is trustworthy or not, I don't mind telling you. Drop me a PM if you're that curious, and I'll message you back.

**whereinthewrld**: So glad to hear that you liked the last update! It always makes me feel good when someone says that everyone was in character. I worry sometimes about Jess, since she wasn't in the show long enough for us to get a good sense of her. Sort of makes it tricky to mesh her in with everyone else. I'm also happy that you like TK—he's making my Dean chapters even more fun to write! Anyways, thanks for the review!

**zuimar**: You know, I have _got_ to do better at updating my profile page—I forget to put my latest progress up, so you've no doubt been wondering what the crap I've been doing lately. I haven't been twiddling my thumbs, I promise! Glad to hear you like TK—I might have to start a TK-fan club—LOL! Anyways, I've got progress to report, if you haven't seen it on my profile page already—I have another one-shot up, if you haven't read it yet, and I've got about 11 or so pages of Chapter 39 written. YAY! Anyways, thanks for the review!

**stoic81**: You know, you're not the only one to ask about TK's backstory. I'll tell you what I told irishgirl9—I didn't necessarily have plans to write anything about TK's past (haven't even thought about it, actually), but if you have something in mind that you'd like to see, I can certainly consider it and see if I can fit it in. I can't promise anything, but I can play around with it. Anyways, hoped you liked Dean's 'meltdown,' even though most of it was 'off-stage,' so to speak. Thanks for the awesome review!

**Yohko Bennington**: Glad to hear I have another TK fan! Sorry I left you hanging so much last time. Hopefully this wasn't the same kind of cliffy. Thanks for reviewing!

**WastedJamie**: This is your favorite fanfic?! Really?! That's so awesome!! Made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, too! Thanks for the lovely review!

**xXxFailingDreamsxXx**: Haven't given up on it yet, so no worries. It just takes me awhile to write a chapter, because I like them long. Hope you'll stick with me!

**justme09**: Aww, you read the whole thing in one day?! That's a great compliment—thanks so much! Hope you'll let me know what you thought of this chapter! Thanks for dropping me a line!

**courtneyun**: Aww, you say the nicest things! While the next chapter is a John chapter, I have no doubt there will be another Dean and TK chapter soon. The two of them are too fun not to write another chapter for, so while I can't say when, I can definitely say it's coming. Sorry I left you waiting on the edge of your seat (bed) for so long! Hope it was worth it!

**AJ2951**: Your review made me smile! That's okay about not reviewing lately—I totally know what it's like to be busy, so no worries! You know, one day, I should do a poll of everyone's favorite character—I'd be interested in seeing who comes in first place. Anyways, thanks for dropping me a line! Take care!

**PRACK**: YAY, you're back!! I know we've already chatted since you sent me this, but I couldn't not send you a response! Okay, so in your review, you said you were loving Jess—you'll have to let me know what you thought of her after reading her chapter. You're sweet to say she's believable! Anyways, talk to you soon!


	39. Because Ignorance is Bliss

A/N: The wait sucks—we all know this. I can only apologize…again. Anyways, thanks to gcbravo for filling in as beta since my usual beta is busy with RL. I'm sad for her. But our trip to New Orleans this summer will make up for all of that suckiness, mimishell! Hang in there for just a little longer!

Chapter 39: Because Ignorance is Bliss

"Ready?" John asked as he placed the last sigil in the seal he'd drawn on the floor. His eyes searched his youngest son's face, hating that his fourteen-year-old was put in such an uncomfortable position. That he was scared wasn't hard to see, even considering Braden's usual stoicism. He had a death grip on Dean's sleeve as he stared back at the sigil on the floor with worried eyes. Sam and Jessica stood near the doorway, worried but neither of them protesting.

_Jessica probably doesn't feel like it's her place, but it's surprising as hell that Sam hasn't put in his two cents worth at this point. He's never failed to speak up before. But maybe he's as eager for answers as the rest of us…well, some of us._

Aubrey and Dean knelt on the floor beside Braden, quiet and reserved. Aubrey was obviously as scared as her twin, but she seemed to sense his need and thus stayed quiet. Dean had gone silent, too, but for entirely different reasons. And as he knelt beside Braden on the opposite side of the sigil from their father, Dean was taking silent protest to a new level.

Because what John was getting from Dean wasn't even in the _ballpark_ of supportive. No, what John was getting from Dean was downright hostility. At the moment, what little eye contact from his oldest John could get consisted of angry stares that were hot enough to melt steel. Obviously, Dean wasn't feeling particularly forgiving, but that was hardly surprising anymore. Dean hadn't been particularly forgiving in a couple of years now.

But at least he wasn't taking his anger out on Braden anymore, John reflected, watching Dean silently support his brother, who currently had a death grip on the sleeve of Dean's shirt.

"Yessir, I'm ready," Braden said quietly, bringing John's attention back to his youngest son.

"You sure?" John asked him softly. "Cause if you don't wanna do this, we can try Missouri's way."

"I'm sure. Just do it, Dad," Braden told him softly, swallowing hard as his fingers tightened on Dean's arm, and though John knew the fourteen-year-old wasn't hurting Dean, he could see Dean's face grow taut with frustration, the older obviously beating himself up about things he had no control over.

"You gotta let go of him first, son," John told Braden gently, nodding in the direction of Braden's hold on his older brother.

"Bray, you don't have to do this," John heard Dean tell the younger boy. "We can find another way to do—"

"No!" Braden said stubbornly with a vehement shake of his head. "I'm tired of bein' scared of this thing, and I wanna freakin' _do_ somethin' about it," Braden told him resolutely.

"Alright. If you're sure this is what you wanna do…"

"Yessir," he replied, and with a resolved nod of his head, he let go of Dean and turned to John, fighting back a worried expression. "'m ready, Dad."

"Step inside the circle then, and let's do this," John told him, picking up the glass that held the concoction he and Bobby had painstakingly mixed up. "This is gonna go just like we talked about—you're gonna drink this, I'm gonna say the words for the ritual, and it should bring Oliver forward. By The mixture should've put you to sleep by then, but just in case it didn't, remember not to panic, okay? We've got ya'—the circle will keep Oliver secured, and we'll be right here the whole time. You'll be just fine until the mixture wears off."

"Yeah, I remember," Braden said softly, offering him a shaky smile before stepping into the circle, the kid looking back at his brother once more before taking the glass from his father.

"Dean, stay sharp," John said softly as they all watched Braden slowly drain the glass with a grimace of disgust.

"That shit's gross, Dad," Braden told him, handing the glass back over to him. John watched him with a careful eye, and within a few moments, Braden began to sway on his feet.

"Sit down, son," John told him gently, preferring that Braden be closer to the ground when the sedative affects of the concoction kicked in.

"Yeah," Braden whispered, abruptly dropping to his knees with a dazed expression.

"Dean, tell me when he's out," John murmured, waiting for Dean to acknowledge the order before he picked up the book he'd placed by his side.

A few minutes later, Braden's eyes shut and he began to slump over, just as John imagined he would. Dean caught him before he hit the floor, lowering him gently and making certain all of Braden's limbs were safely inside the circle before he looked up at their father with a nod.

_Here goes nothin'. _

The ritual was short and relatively simple, which surprised the hell out of him considering that in his experience, rituals as a whole were long-winded, difficult, and a pain in the ass to perform. As the last word fell from his lips, the candle flames surrounding the outer perimeter of the circle suddenly began to waver. A second later, they blew out entirely, leaving the room in complete darkness.

"Daddy?" John heard Aubrey whisper fearfully, and John was just about to reach for a flashlight when he heard the floorboards creak followed by muffled cursing.

"Damn it, John," he heard Braden say, only to realize a split second later that it wasn't _really _Braden. Braden's mouth, yes, but not his accent, and certainly not _him._ "Why can't you ever leave well enough alone? Stubborn ass," it continued.

A second later, John winced as the lights came on suddenly, and he looked over to see Sam standing by the light switch.

"Oliver?" John asked, his eyes narrowed as he gazed back at Braden's form in the midst of the circle, the eyes that were no longer Braden's peering back at him with more than mild annoyance.

"I am not a dog to come to heel at your call, John Winchester," Oliver growled.

"Yeah, well, you came anyway, so what does that say about _you_?"

"It says I can't trust you not to waste your time with risky endeavors and foolhardy gambles. If I _hadn't_ shown up, the Maker only knows what you'd try next. You're lucky you didn't scramble your boy's brains with all the ingredients in that cocktail of yours. Have you no idea how dangerous belladonna is? Never mind when you're feeding it to a child."

"We were careful," John told him, shrugging off Oliver's protests with a wave of his hand. "We need answers."

"Are you on about that again?" Oliver asked impatiently. "Honestly, I would think you have more pressing matters with which to concern yourself—a certain yellow-eyed demon, perhaps?"

"What do you know about it?"

"Not much more than you, I wager—you're surprisingly well-informed on the matter."

"Not informed enough," John argued. "So talk. And you can start by telling me what the hell you are."

"John, you should really try to get past that," Oliver replied. "If I wasn't willing to tell you before, why on earth would you imagine I'd have changed my mind _now_?"

"You're tormenting my son—why the hell would I try to get past it?"

"Um, Oliver," Jessica broke in softly, and John turned to quiet her, but she continued, not looking at him. "I really don't think he's gonna just let it go. So couldn't you just give us _something_?" she asked him beseechingly, blinking back at Oliver as she graced him with a sweet smile.

"You've got a pretty smile, girl, I'll grant you that," Oliver said, and John imagined he saw an amused gleam in those unfamiliar eyes as Oliver gazed back at Jessica.

"Please, Oliver," Aubrey chimed in, and John could see him wavering.

_Well, I'll be damned…that just might work._

"Very well," Oliver said finally, sighing before he cast a pointed look at John. "Has it occurred to you that you could learn a thing or two from these girls, John? You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, you know."

Sam snorted, and John shot him a dark look before turning his attention back to Oliver. With a rueful shake of his head, Oliver sat back down on the floor, reclining with a relaxed expression as he stared back at John enigmatically.

"To reiterate, I am not, nor have I ever been, a demon. So there'll be no exorcising me."

_Damn it._

"How do we know you're not lying?" Dean interjected hotly.

"I can swallow holy water for you, boy, or you can stand there and throw your sad excuse for Latin at me for the remainder of our time together, but none of it will do you any good, because as I have already said, I'm not a demon."

"So what are you then?" John asked belligerently. "Quit hedging and get on with it."

"You are an aggravating man, John Winchester."

"Tell us something we _don't_ know," Sam muttered under his breath, and John heard the telltale sound of flesh hitting flesh as Jessica smacked him for the smart aleck remark.

_Good of her to take care of that so I don't have to,_ John thought distantly as he remained focused on Oliver.

"There's not much lore to be found about my kind, and we prefer it that way. And as you've never encountered one of us before, you have no true name for us, therefore telling you what I am is virtually worthless to you. "

"Tell us anyway," John commanded, and with a sigh Oliver complied.

"I'm an old-soul, something like a spirit."

"Bullshit," Dean barked. "A spirit can't tag along for as long as you have, and they sure as hell don't take over and leave you with big fucking holes in your memory—that's not a spirit!"

"I didn't say I _was_ a spirit, Dean Winchester—I simply said that I was something _like_ a spirit. I was attempting to provide you with a description which might actually prove worthwhile to you."

"What's an old-soul?" asked Aubrey, beating everyone to the punch.

"We're…guardians."

"Of what?"

"The living. Certain individuals are chosen to become guardians for those among the living who have a part to play, a purpose to fulfill."

"Why you, though?" Sam broke in. "As a human, I mean—how'd you land this sort of gig?"

"I was a hunter back in the day, just as you are."

"Like Samuel Colt?"

"That sly, old dog? Amateur."

"Yeah, well, rumor has it that that _amateur_ made a weapon that can kill demons."

"You're speaking of the Colt?"

"Yeah. Know anything about it?"

"Its existence, yes. Its whereabouts, no. But just to clarify—do you have it in your mind to go after the Yellow-Eyed Demon with the Colt?"

"Hell, yeah. If I can get my hands on the damn thing."

"I wouldn't advise that, John."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because you're not ready to face a demon of this caliber. He's well above the level of the black-eyed demons you encounter, and none of you are prepared for that, yet."

"Well, we'll just have to _get_ prepared, because I'm through standing around waiting for that evil son of a bitch to come after my family again."

"Wait just a damn minute," Dean interrupted hotly. "You're saying you were some super-hunter who got picked to, what, torment Braden?"

"Dean, you're an excellent hunter but you're insolent. That's something you might want to address with the boy, John. Of course, anyone can see where he gets it. A wonder the rest of your children aren't as difficult, though Samuel has a bit of a mouth on him as well."

"Yeah, I know—like breeds like, and all that. But he brings up a good point," John retorted. "What was so special about you that you got picked to be one of these _old-souls_?"

"When I was alive, I did my best to help things along, and when I died, I was offered an opportunity to do more."

"When you were alive? When was that?" Sam asked, jumping back in with the same narrow-minded focus as his father.

"Some time ago," Oliver replied enigmatically, and John fought the urge to swear as Oliver once again reverted to the sort of answers that weren't really answers at all.

"Well when did you die?" Sam went on, pushing for more information.

"1880."

"AD or BC?" Sam asked.

"Boy, I'm old, not ancient," Oliver retorted, casting Sam an aggravated look, but before either of them could continue, Jessica interrupted.

"Oliver…who exactly were you when you were alive?"

"I doubt you'd know of me."

"Still…maybe it would help put everyone at ease if we knew," she said cajolingly, and John held his breath as he watched Oliver consider whether or not to answer her.

"Oliver Fisher Winchester, at your service, my dear.."

No one spoke after Oliver's abrupt revelation, none of them quite knowing how to respond. Until Dean finally broke the silence.

"No fucking way—you gotta be shittin' me," Dean barked, and Sam turned to look at his older brother questioningly.

"What, Dean?"

"Oliver Winchester, the guy who started the Winchester Repeating Arms company, Sam. C'mon, how do you not know that? We only have the same fuckin' last name, and you never bothered to look the shit up?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Wait," John broke in before the boys could start arguing. "Are you trying to tell me that you're the spirit of Oliver Winchester, the gun magnate?"

"Yes—weren't you listening?"

"And you just _somehow_ attached yourself to _my_ son?" John asked him skeptically.

"Oh, _I_ had nothing to do with it."

"Then who did?"

"My superiors. I don't act of my own accord, John. "

"So why'd you pick Bray, Oliver?" Aubrey asked, speaking up before John could pursue that particular line of questioning.

"Are you all hard of hearing?" Oliver replied somewhat impatiently. "It's as I told you—we're chosen to guide and protect those who have a purpose to fulfill."

"But what _kind_ of purpose?" Sam asked, moving closer with a look bordering on desperation, a look that had John suddenly worried.

"The sort of purpose that will impact the war."

"Wait, wait. What war?" John asked, holding up his hand to stop Sam's interrogation.

"_The_ _war_, John, the war between good and evil. It's a war that has gone on for millennia, but in the past twenty years, events have been set into motion that may determine the outcome."

"What does that have to do with us?" John asked, his eyes narrowing once again with growing unease.

"Well, the truth of the matter is, evil has tried to tip the balance in its favor," Oliver said bluntly, for once being forthcoming with answers, though John didn't miss the look that Oliver cast in Sam's direction. And apparently, it hadn't gone unnoticed by Dean either, if the look on _his_ face was anything to go by. "So we decided to even the odds a bit and do a little interfering of our own. And as your family was at the center of the maelstrom, it was decided that a guardian was necessary."

"So where the hell were you when my mother was getting murdered on the fucking ceiling?" Dean asked hotly, his face tight with barely contained rage.

_Shit. _With luck, nothing was about to get broken.

"We were unaware of your mother's death until it was too late, I'm afraid. It is regrettable—"

"Regrettable? Regrettable? My mother _burned_, you son of a bitch!" Dean yelled, and only quick reflexes born of a lifetime of fighting allowed John to grab hold of him before his oldest could do any damage."

"Ease down!" John demanded, tightening his grip as he pulled Dean back against his chest, pinning the twenty-four-year-old's arms to his sides as Dean fought to get free. "Calm down, or you're outta here, Dean, you hear me?"

With one last heartfelt curse, Dean slowly ceased struggling, the tension slowly leaking from his body, and at long last, John was able to release him with a gentle but admonishing squeeze of his shoulder, a silent reminder to keep his temper.

_And if that isn't ironic as hell coming from me…_

"I meant no disrespect, Dean," Oliver said softly as Dean stepped away from John. "We were truly sorry to learn of her fate—had we been aware of the situation she'd gotten herself into, we could have taken steps to prevent what occurred that night . Regretttably, your mother's death served as a catalyst."

_Situation she got herself into? How did Mary have anything to do with what happened that night?_

John opened his mouth to ask, but Oliver shook his head minutely, his eyes warning John not to voice the question that must have been obvious on his face. And the feeling of dread in John's stomach began to grow.

"What kind of steps could you have taken?" Sam asked instead as he again stepped closer, dropping his hand on Dean's shoulder in brief comfort before moving past them to stand a mere five feet from Oliver.

"Well, it's hard to say for certain, but I imagine _Dean_ would have been joined with a guardian, rather than Braden—we might have had a chance to prevent her death."

"So why didn't he get a guardian right _after_ Mom died?"

"Dean was too traumatized by the events he witnessed that night, Samuel. He put up barriers to protect himself, and his shielding at that point would have made a joining damn near impossible. Not without traumatizing him further."

"Why not me, then?" Sam asked. "Or Dad?"

"Your father was unacceptable because he was too old and too shielded. That is why children are chosen—they're easier to join with, and they're far more accepting of such things. Though your younger brother seems to be the exception, as he's proving to be less than accepting of my presence," he added with an annoyed frown.

"And me?" Sam asked again, it obviously not escaping his notice that Oliver had avoided the question. And as Sam stared back at Oliver with that same desperate intensity, John felt a sinking feeling in his gut, because he knew from personal experience that desperation like that never led to anything good.

"You're…a special case, Samuel," Oliver said carefully. "Suffice it to say, you weren't a candidate."

"But _why_? You and the Yellow-Eyed Demon know something, I know you do! Why can't you just give me a straight answer!"

"I'm sorry, Samuel," Oliver said regretfully. "I wish I could give you the answers you seek, but my hands are tied on the matter," he told Sam, his eyes meeting John's briefly. Luckily, in his frustration, Sam didn't notice the look Oliver and John had shared. But Jessica did, and John had a feeling she was going to confront him on it before long.

"So, Oliver, when Bray and I were born…" Aubrey prompted softly, gently but effectively changing the subject.

"We sensed an opportunity at last to intervene."

"Why Braden and not me? Was I not 'acceptable' either?" she asked, her voice small.

"Oh you were perfectly acceptable, my dear. But I _am _male. I thought it more prudent that I remain such, so as to avoid considerable awkwardness."

_Who the hell cares? We've got more important things to worry about right now than the particulars on which of my children this thing chose to play meat-suit with. _

"Your choice of host aside," John broke in as Aubrey nodded thoughtfully, "What's your plan?"

"Merely to keep all of you alive."

"So what about all the crazy shit that Braden's done these past few weeks—was that all you? Was it all part of your _plan_ to _help_ us?" Dean asked, and John could practically hear the boy's temper revving back up.

"Some of it, yes. I tried to be somewhat circumspect, but Braden's resistance made matters…difficult. I was forced to show my hand more than I cared to, and though some of the strange behaviors were Braden's own, the majority were of my doing."

"So taking off for Palo Alto from Seattle was you?" John wondered aloud.

"Why, yes, of course. Your son would hardly have undertaken such an arduous journey on his own, though he's quite capable, I assure you."

"And the dead guy in the warehouse?" Dean asked hotly. "D' you kill that poor bastard?"

"In a manner of speaking. The broken neck was…unfortunate. The man was dead before he ever entered the warehouse—but breaking his neck served to distract the demon inside him long enough to allow me to exorcise it.

"He was possessed?"

"Yes. And the demon's eavesdropping was ill-timed and ill-advised. And as I had important matters to attend to, I had neither the time nor the inclination to tolerate it. I simply purged the body of the demon inhabiting it."

"What were you doing in the warehouse?" John asked.

"Contacting my superiors. I miscalculated the timing a bit, I'll admit. Leaving Aubrey alone that night wasn't my first choice of actions, but Braden's guard dropped that night, and I had to take the opportunity. It saved me from having to fight him for control later because sure as shooting he wasn't going to willingly submit to me."

"Why couldn't you have just told him all this, instead of scaring the hell out of him?" Dean asked, and John really just wanted to beat his head into the wall at the boy's continued enmity.

_Sure, I'm belligerent as hell, but damn. You gotta know when to back off a bit if you want answers, son._

"I was following orders, boy—surely, _you_ of all people can understand that," Oliver said pointedly. "I was told to remain unobtrusive, and avoid direct communication as long as I could. Unfortunately, over the past month, Braden has grown increasingly aware of my presence, and that sort of knowledge makes my job all the more difficult. That's why I need you to help him accept me, John. And you as well, Dean—your brother respects you, and with your approval, he'll be much more amenable to me."

"Why the hell would I do that?" Dean wanted to know, his face set in a dark scowl.

"Because if he'll accept me, I can do my job and protect this family."

"If we do this, what's in it for us?" John asked.

"Well, not only do you benefit from my protection, your boy would stop fighting sleep, and you wouldn't wake up wondering where in blazes he might've wandered off to in the middle of the damn night. We could just _tell_ you if something required our attention. Or at the very least, I could retake control on some of those midnight jaunts and get us back to bed—not all of the sleepwalking incidents were of _my_ doing, you know."

"Doesn't sound like a bad deal, Dad," Sam said softly, speaking up again for the first time in awhile.

_No, and that's what worries me._ _Can I really trust him? Doesn't sound like bullshit, but then again, what proof do we have that any of this is true?_

So he found himself doing what he normally did when he needed a sounding board. He turned to Dean.

"Dean. What do _you_ think?"

"Why the hell are you asking _me_? I thought I'd made myself pretty damn clear—I think it's a bunch of bullshit. "

_I conveniently forgot how 'helpful' Dean is when he's pissed off. Lovely._

"I'm not asking whether you agree with it or not, smart-ass," John told him with a weary sigh. "I'm asking you if it sounds like the truth. Can't you ask one of the spirits you've got hanging around you now if he's trustworthy? What about that spirit-guide o' yours?"

"I'm not a fuckin' Magic Eight Ball, Dad," Dean said hotly.

"Alright, you know what? I've had about enough of the attitude—now you either apologize and start at least _trying_ to be helpful, or you can get your ass upstairs and lie down until you cool off—you decide," John told him harshly, his tone more than enough to clue his eldest in on just how close he was to pushing it too far.

Dean fell silent, the angry expression melting into a familiar, blank mask that had John at once both relieved and frustrated. If Dean was going into lockdown mode, things would certainly be quieter, but on the other hand, there was no telling how long it would take one of them to coax him out of it.

_Fuck. And it's not like I can sit down with him and try to fix it, not with the demon on our asses. Won't be the first time that my search for answers has driven a wedge between me and one of my children. Sure as hell won't be the last time, either._

"Before I decide," he said finally, turning back to face Oliver, "you and I are gonna talk. Alone."

* * *

"John," Oliver began without preamble as they sequestered themselves in Bobby's study, "to be perfectly frank with you, I can't tell you all that you wish to know. I _can_ tell you that the demon you seek is one Azazel, a nasty upper level demon, that one. It has quite an interest in your family."

"It's Sam, isn't it?" John asked, his throat tight with emotion.

_Please don't let Braden be aware of this—bad enough I have to deal with it, but my fourteen-year-old shouldn't have to bear it, too._

"Yes. We don't know much more than you do, at least in regards to your son. Azazel wants Samuel, but we don't know why. We do know that Samuel is of strategic importance, but we don't know the specifics. As for Dean…Azazel's interest in _him_ is of a more trifling nature. He seems to simply enjoy toying with your oldest boy."

_Fuck._

Oliver didn't have to tell him that having _either_ of his sons at the center of a demon's attention was the very definition of being screwed six ways to Sunday.

"Why us?" John wanted to know.

"Before we start down this path, John, I need to warn you. If you truly want this, I will tell you what you wish to know, as much as I can. But none of what I will tell you will be easy to hear. You may wish that I hadn't. So I will ask you this one time—do you still want to proceed? Be certain, John."

Something told him that Oliver was telling the truth, that maybe he really _didn't_ want to know the truth. But after years of searching for answers, of trying to find out what had killed his wife and why, John knew he couldn't say no, not when he was so close.

"I'm sure," he said solemnly.

"Very well. You asked why your family was chosen," Oliver said plainly, waiting for John's nod before continuing. "Well, we aren't entirely certain of the specifics, but we know it involves your wife."

"My wife? What the hell are you talking about?"

"She made a deal."

"What kind of deal?" John asked coldly, his heart sounding too loud to his ears as he stared back at the piercing, unfamiliar gaze of the boy standing in front of him, the boy who was both his son and not his son.

"The kind that usually costs a man his soul."

"Are you trying to tell me that my wife—my Mary—made some kind of a deal with a demon?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"That's a load of bullshit—how would she have even known how to summon a demon?" John yelled, but Oliver cut him off, his expression somber as he gazed at John with a penetrating stare.

"Because she knew more than you think. The Campbells were well known in hunting circles—you can verify that with any of your sources, of course. Mary followed in her father's footsteps, just as your children follow in yours. But she gave all of that up when the two of you were wed."

"If that's true, then why would she have ever agreed to make a deal? That doesn't make any fucking sense!"

"That's just it, though. She knew exactly what she was getting into, but the nature of the deal she made is…unique."

"How? Quit beating around the bush and tell me straight, dammit!"

"As far as we can tell, Mary never promised Azazel her soul—thus, it wasn't your typical crossroads deal."

"So then what was it?"

Oliver was silent, obviously trying to decide how much to say. Or whether to say anything at all.

"Tell me!" John yelled, his body so tense that he felt like he was about to shatter.

"She promised not to interrupt the demon when it came calling in ten years time."

"In exchange for what?"

"Your life."

Dismay and a soul deep despair rose up in him even as his mind screamed a denial.

"But there was no reason for her to do that—I was home from Vietnam before Mary and I ever got serious. Why would she make a deal to save me?" he asked, desperately wishing that Oliver would tell him it had all been a mistake, that his logic was sound and that there was no reason for Mary to have done something so desperate.

_Not for me, please not for me._

"You were dead, John."

"What?"

"It's not very clear, but from what we can tell, a flux in time occurred and something happened—for approximately two minutes, you were dead, John, irrevocably so."

John's heart felt like it had just ceased to beat in his chest, the pain something he hadn't felt so sharply since he'd lost his wife that night over twenty years ago.

"So she made a deal in that two minutes' time to bring me back…in exchange for not interrupting the demon when it returned ten years later?"

Oliver nodded, as though he sensed that John was struggling to accept the revelation.

"When was the ten years up?"

"The night she died."

"What went wrong? Why did it kill her?"

"She went into the nursery."

_Ah no,_ he thought, his chest tight as he though once more of that fateful night, of what it meant that she'd died in Sam's nursery, that whatever she'd interrupted had to do with his son.

_If Sam ever finds out…_

That couldn't happen, John knew.

"But he didn't get her soul, right?"

The sound of Dean's voice had John whirling around, dismay welling up at the sight of his oldest standing in the doorway, a closed expression on his face as he waited for an answer.

_As though I can't see the devastation in his eyes._

"No," Oliver said gently, his words easing some of the tension in Dean's body.

"How much did you hear?" John demanded, staring back at his oldest as he waited for an answer.

Dean didn't reply, though whether it was because he didn't hear the question or because he was outright ignoring it, John was hard-pressed to say.

"So she's happy, right? Wherever she is, I mean," Dean continued, and something about the look on Oliver's—Braden's—face made John's dread grow.

"That's a harder question to answer, I'm afraid," Oliver said slowly.

"What's hard about it?" Dean asked belligerently, his eyes stormy as he stared back at Oliver.

"Her spirit is…not where it should be. She is not at rest."

"Then where the hell is she?"

"Have you ever returned to your old home in Lawrence?" Oliver asked slowly, directing the question at John rather than Dean.

_Oh no. Please don't tell me what I think you're about to tell me. Not in front of Dean._

It'd be bad enough to hear himself, but for Dean to hear it too just made it all the more unbearable.

"Wait just a damn minute here," Dean said hotly before John could answer. "Are you sayin' she's still in our old house? That she's trapped, and we just fucking left her there?"

Oliver's gaze stayed locked on John as he refrained from answering. But then again, he didn't really have to say anything, John knew, because the answer was loud and clear. And judging from the almost manic look that suddenly gleamed in Dean's eyes, John could tell that his boy was only a step away from doing something reckless and ill-advised.

Sure enough, Dean slammed his fist against the door frame and spun on his heel to leave.

"Hold up," John barked, lunging forward and grabbing him by the arm, hauling him back. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Where the hell do you think?" Dean snarled, shrugging him off. "I'm going to fuckin' Lawrence to take care of Mom—I think she's suffered long enough."

"Look, I know you want to—God knows I do, too—but we've got a demon breathing down our necks right now. Your brothers and sister have to come first—it's gonna have to wait, son."

Dean glared back at him, shaking his head as he once again moved toward the door. John hauled him back again, holding out his hand.

"Gimme your keys, Dean." For a second, Dean didn't move, and John frowned. "Give 'em to me, or I'll take 'em," he said softly, his eyes warning Dean that he meant what he said.

Dean stared back at him with angry disbelief before he jerked his arm free from John's grab, yanked his keys from his pocket and flung them at the far wall. With a look of hatred that John had never thought to see on his oldest son's face, Dean turned away, and with an angry swipe of his arm, knocked over a stack of books Bobby had unfortunately left by the door, scattering them across the floor before he swept out of the room, slamming the door behind him with enough force to rock the room.

_Shit_, he thought with a sigh, suddenly so tired he could hardly see straight, the stress of the past few weeks beginning to catch up with him. _Never thought I'd see Dean look at me that way. Sam, sure. But not Dean. Never Dean._

And it hurt, even though he understood.

"He's becoming more hostile, John," Oliver told him solemnly. "You need to address that soon, for letting matters such as this fester never ends well. He'll only resent you the more for it."

_Tell me something I don't know._

"Yeah, look, I think we're done here," John said with a weary sigh. "I wanna confirm a few things, but if what you said pans out...I'll talk to Braden."

"You have my thanks."

"Yeah, sure," John said, rubbing at his jaw wearily.

"Oh, and John? I strongly recommend that you reconsider your plan to leave here. None of you are ready for a showdown with Azazel, and this is the safest place for all of you."

"I've been after this bastard for twenty years, and this is the closest I've gotten to finding it. But I'll think about it. Listen, let Bray take back control, will ya'? I need to go find Dean before he works himself up any more than he already is."

_Or before he shuts down and locks himself behind a wall of silence that I don't have a chance of breaching. Whatever comes first._

"Very well," Oliver said with a nod. "It's been…well, not a pleasure, but certainly…interesting. And loud. Until we meet again," he finished with a smirk that John recognized. And with a long, low exhale, his eyes closed and he sank to the floor. A moment later, he slumped over and John knelt down as his baby boy's eyes opened, a familiar blue gaze staring blearily back at him.

"Daddy?"

"Hey, kiddo, you okay?"

"Feel kinda shitty. Tired."

"Sam!" John yelled as Braden leaned into him, dropping his head on John's chest as he went limp.

A moment later, Sam came into the room, his eyes immediately drawn to the two of them in the middle of the floor.

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, just tired. Can you get him settled upstairs?" John asked, pretty sure that Braden had already dropped off to sleep.

"Yeah, sure," Sam said softly, loping towards him even as he stared down at him questioningly. "But why can't you do it?"

"Because I've gotta go find your older brother—did you see him?"

"No sir," Sam replied, shaking his head. "What happened?"

"He overheard some things, got upset," John told him as he helped Sam heft Braden into his arms. "He took off a few minutes ago, and I'd like to find him before he starts breaking shit. You know how Bobby feels about that."

"Yeah. Dean's gonna owe him a shit-load in damages if we don't leave soon."

"He already does," John said with a sigh. "No doubt Bobby has a running tally of it, too."

Sam chuckled as he carried Braden towards the door, only to pause and turn back.

"Dad? What did Dean hear?"

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"Dad, c'mon—that 'need to know' shit got old the minute Yellow-Eyes came after me and Jess."

"We're not discussing this," John told him, his voice firm with resolve. "I'll think about it, and if I decide it's important for you to know, I'll tell you. Now go on and get Braden upstairs."

Sam flashed him a dark look and left the room, and John knew without a doubt that if Sam had had a free hand, he'd have slammed the door behind him.

_Wonderful. If I keep this up, maybe I can manage to get _all_ of my children pissed at me at the same damn time._

But as he left to go search out his oldest, John sincerely hoped he could sort things out with Dean. Because the truth was, things with Dean hadn't been right in a long time, and it was starting to take its toll.

* * *

After a fruitless fifteen minutes of searching, John came to the conclusion that he'd been wise to take Dean's car keys—he'd have been long gone otherwise. He found him, finally, lying on a dolly conveniently placed underneath a GTO there in Bobby's garage. A variety of tools lay scattered on the concrete around him, which suggested that he'd been out there more than once over the last few days.

_Probably tryin' to work on his focus. _Because even with a spirit guide to do all the work, Dean never had cared much for depending on someone else for anything. No, he was definitely one to handle his shit on his own.

_Just another example of my own shortcomings coming back on me. Sam may have more of my temper, but Dean's got my whole 'internalize everything and fucking handle it on your own' tendency hands-down. And isn't that just fucking dandy?_

"Guess I should've looked for you out here first, instead of wasting my time lookin' everywhere else," John told him with an ease he didn't feel, hoping that Dean would respond in kind. He _didn't_ respond in kind, of course—he didn't respond _at all_.

_Shit,_ John thought wearily as he lowered himself onto a stool that had seen better days.

"Dean…look…I know you and I haven't exactly seen eye-to-eye on things lately, and believe me, it sure as hell hasn't escaped my notice. And this thing with your mom hasn't exactly made things better. I'm sorry you heard all that shit that Oliver was telling me—truth is, I haven't even let it sink in yet, 'cause I know it's gonna hurt like hell when I do." He paused, hoping Dean would say something, but the twenty-four-year-old remained silent, exchanging one tool for another without acknowledging that John was even standing there, much less talking to him.

"Dammit, Dean, I know you wanna head to Lawrence, but…we've got problems of our own right now. You've gotta understand, son—this is the first time in twenty years that we've actually found out something significant about what happened to your mother."

"And how does _any _of what we found out actually _help_ us, Dad?" Dean asked hotly, letting a ½-inch double box wrench clatter to the floor. "How does knowing that Mom was part of all of this actually change anything? It won't bring her back, it won't erase the fact that she made a fucking deal and lost, and it sure as hell won't make it any easier to deal with her being gone! So forgive me if I don't stand up and fucking rejoice that Oliver decided to throw us a bone and tell us a bunch of shit that we didn't need to know!"

Another tool, a torque wrench this time, came flying out from underneath the car, another casualty of Dean's temper coming to a clattering halt as it hit the wall.

_Guess I should be grateful he's still under the car—otherwise, I'd have to worry about stuff flying around at eye-level. _

"Look, son, I know none of this has been easy to hear, but if what Oliver says pans out—and I've got a feeling it will—then we've got a shot at taking this thing out."

"And that's worth endangering us? A crap-ass 'explanation' is enough for you to risk going up against that yellow-eyed bastard?"

"We're _already_ in danger, Dean. But at least if we know more, we can _minimize_ that risk."

"Yeah, whatever, Dad," Dean replied, and that quickly, John knew, Dean had turned off.

_Shit._

"Dean—," he began with a sigh, but Dean was obviously done caring and sharing.

"Was there something else?" Dean barked as he slid out from under the car and stood, leaning in under the hood to check the engine. "Because if not, I'm trying to get this piece of shit working again before we leave."

_In other words, 'leave me the fuck alone,' huh?_

"About that…" John said, wincing as he watched Dean still, the twenty-four-year-old's entire body instantly stiffening at what he no doubt perceived as more shit about to be dumped on him. "Oliver thinks we should stay put," John told him slowly, pausing after the announcement in the hopes that Dean would voice his opinion on the matter. But Dean wasn't volunteering any information, pointedly ignoring John once again as he stooped to grab one of the few tools he hadn't slung across the room.

_So much for getting his thoughts on the idea. Normally, kid can't wait to make his opinion known on anything remotely related to a hunt. Not argumentative like Sam, but vocal nonetheless._

"So what do you think?" he prompted, and Dean turned at last to face him, an incredulous look on his face.

"What, you're actually interested in what _I_ think?" Dean asked him caustically, and John sighed, tired of getting nothing but attitude from his oldest.

_You know, I'm fucking trying here!_

"That's what I said, dammit," John told him, his temper beginning to fray as he responded in kind to his oldest son's hostility.

"Not what you mean though," Dean retorted just as angrily. "You just want me to back you up on whatever the hell _you_ decide to do."

"I just want your fucking opinion on whether we should stay here a while longer or hit the road! But I'm sorry—that must be asking too much of you," he snarled, wincing inwardly at the amount of sarcasm he was channeling.

"Hell, Dad, you must not be paying attention," Dean said with equal sarcasm. "I think I made it pretty damn obvious what I wanted to do—you shot me down. So I got nothing else to say."

"Dean," John said, forcibly shoving down his anger with a sigh before refocusing on his son. "I know you wanna ride hell-bent for leather to Lawrence—God knows I do, too—but we've just gotta hang tight for just a little longer. I promise you, as soon as we can, we'll go back there and take care of your mom."

"Whatever," Dean mumbled, turning his back once more, and John knew without another word that Dean was finished. Yeah, John could keep talking, he knew, but he'd be talking _at_ Dean, not _to _him, and Dean wouldn't actually be listening to anything he said anyway, so what was the point?

No, there'd be no more getting through to him, at least not until he'd had time to settle a bit. So with a sigh, John threw in the towel and headed back into the house.

_Maybe I need to just give him some time. I can go on to Elkins' place and see what he knows about the Colt, and leave Aubrey, Jessica, and the boys here with Bobby where it's safe. Just for a little while…_

_Now I've just gotta tell _them _that_…_Why do I get the feeling the news won't go over so well?

* * *

_

A/N: As always, sorry for the long wait. Thanks to everyone who's continued to stick with me despite the long waits.

**Anna**: I'm not sure if you've made it this far with the story, but since you didn't login to review, I couldn't hit you back with a private message. Hopefully, you'll get this. Thanks for the reviews you've been sending me along the way—I read and value every one of them. As for Dean seeing Mary die…you're right that they never said that in the show. In fact, Dean even tells Sam that what he remembers of that night is mostly the heat and carrying Sam out the front door. But I think it makes things more deliciously angsty to have Dean actually seeing his mother on the ceiling. Anyways, glad you're enjoying the story! Hope to hear from you again—thanks for the reviews!

**courtneyun**: I was so happy to read how much you like my version of Jessica. I think my favorite Jessica was in the Beer 'Verse by Emma15. She hasn't updated in forever, though, so I have to comfort myself with my own version of Jess. Glad you like her! As for the nail polish remover…it totally works. At least, it works on plastic folders to take names off! Anyways, thanks for the review!

**zuimar**: You always make me feel better about the wait I force you guys to endure—you make me smile! Yeah, Jess was a useful tool for giving Sam a lecture. I think it was something he needed to hear, but he wouldn't have taken it well from anyone else. Glad you liked it! Thanks for reviewing, as always!

**ohgravitysonfire**: Okay, so there was the ritual you were waiting for—what did you think? As for Jess, I sort of think of her as being similar to Mary in many ways, even though there wasn't a whole lot of Mary to compare her to. Of course, we've gotten quite a bit of flashback-Mary, so that's helped a little. She's something of a spitfire, which is how I see Jess. I like the resemblance, too.

**PRACK**: You know, one of these days, I'm going to have to introduce a love interest for Dean, just so that he can have some happiness in his angsty little life. LOL! You know, as much as I go on about a 'happily ever after' ending, I sure put Dean through the wringer, don't I? LOL! So I didn't have the tears you were looking for, as I usually go for Dean expressing himself through anger (i.e., throwing things), but I think it worked out pretty well. What do you think? As for Jessica, I have no plans to kill her off—if anything changes, I'll let you know. Thanks for reviewing!

**stoic81**: Glad I could make a convert of you and bring you around to the pro-Jess team! I always liked the idea of her, so I couldn't bring myself to get rid of her. I like the way you described her—'soft but scrappy' is a perfect description of how I wanted her to be. I'm glad you like her, now! Thanks for letting me know what you thought!

**saberivojo**: I think John has become so accustomed to making all of the decisions for himself and his family that to ask someone else to decide simply never would have occurred to him. Poor John is a control freak, what can I say?

**whereinthewrld**: Sorry to hear about your insomnia—glad I could help alleviate some of the boredom. Check out the one-shots I have posted on my URL if you haven't already read them. They're in this verse, and they'll at least give you something to read when you find yourself wide awake early in the morning, if you want. One of them is from Jessica's perspective, so it might be something you'd enjoy. Anyways, thanks for the review!

**eggylaine**: You know, as worried as I was about the Jessica chapter, it seems to have worked out okay. Thanks for the feedback, and I'm glad you liked the chapter!

**YohKo Bennington**: Glad you liked Jessica's actions in the last chapter! I try to use her as a balance for all the Winchesters—I like to think she's helping things stay on a more even keel than usual. Granted, things don't seem so calm right _now_, but I think it's better than it would be without her. But that's just me. LOL! So what did you think of the ritual?


	40. To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Okay, so while normally, I wouldn't really have an excuse for my lateness, I actually do this time! I was on vacation for a week, then I was distracted by multiple one-shot ideas (one of which is posted, by the way), and then I had knee surgery, which hasn't exactly left me feeling much like writing. So, yeah, this time, it's not my fault! Thanks, PRACK for the uber-fast read-through you did—you're awesome!

A/N 2: Title comes from a line in Shakespeare's _Hamlet_.

Chapter 40: To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

"Braden?"

Hearing his name, Braden groaned inwardly even as he stirred, the sound of his father's voice pulling him reluctantly out of a deep sleep.

"C'mon, son, wake up."

_No. _

He groaned in lieu of a reply, settling deeper into the pillow and hoping his father would take the hint and let him sleep.

"Braden," John said again, and this time, it was accompanied by his hand on Braden's shoulder, shaking him gently.

"'m tired, Dad," Braden mumbled, really wishing it wouldn't be such a horrific mistake to tell his dad to fuck off. But even as tired as he was, he knew better. Sam had tried that once when he was fifteen, and the consequences had not been pretty.

"I know you're tired, but I need to talk to you. It won't take long, but it needs to be now because I've gotta get on the road soon."

"Where you goin'?" he asked, sitting up as adrenaline began to course through him. _If Dad's leaving, then something must be going on…_And that his dad had said "I've gotta get on the road" and not "we've gotta get on the road" hadn't exactly escaped Braden's notice. No, something was definitely up.

"I'm gonna follow a lead I got on a special gun."

"What kinda gun?"

"The kind built by Samuel Colt, the kind that legend holds can kill anything. If I can get my hands on it, I can finally take down that yellow-eyed sonovabitch that killed Mary."

"Whoa…shit, Dad, that's…wow. You really think you can get it?"

"I'm sure as hell gonna try," John told him resolutely. "But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh," Braden said, somewhat taken aback by the admission. _What's more important than killing the Yellow-Eyed Demon?_

"Look, how much do you remember of what happened after we started the ritual?" John asked.

"I don't remember a damn thing," Braden told him, more than annoyed about the blank spot in his memory. He'd had every intention of gleaning the information off his father as soon as the potion wore off, but when he'd come to, he'd been so freakin' tired that he'd been unable to do much more than slump against his father and go back to sleep, despite the late afternoon sun.

_Oh shit, the ritual! _

"Did it work? Did Oliver show?"

"Yeah, he showed. Bitched about it, too," John told him with a rueful smile

"So what did he say?" Braden asked, ignoring his father's attempt to lighten the sudden tension. Impatience wasn't something Braden often suffered from, but he was definitely channeling it as he waited for his father to fill him in. "Did he tell you what he is? Or what he wants?"

"Yeah, surprisingly. You've got Jessica to thank for that, by the way—she sweet-talked him into telling us."

"I'll be sure to thank her later," Braden said absently, not wanting his father to get off-subject. "So what did Oliver say?" he prompted, his anxiety over the whole thing once again beginning to churn. Sure, his dad didn't _seem_ like he was about to deliver bad news, but then again, he'd perfected the poker face before Braden was even born; if he wanted to hide bad news, he was certainly capable.

_Is he a demon, like Dean said, after all? Maybe he's upper-level, and that's why the holy water doesn't work on him, _Braden thought, beginning to work himself up into an uncharacteristic state of anxiety.

"Relax, he's not a demon," his father said, interrupting him before he could get any further. "To be honest, I don't think it was ever his intention to scare you, and taking over your body doesn't seem like it was really what he was after. And if you'll forgive me for channeling your brother for a minute here, if you look at the evidence, he's only taken over your body when one of us was in danger. Anyway, he says he's something called an old-soul, sort of like a guardian angel but more like a spirit. Somethin' like that, anyway. He's basically supposed to look after you, and by extension, the rest of the family."

Braden pondered the news for a few moments, trying to decide how he felt about the revelation before looking his father in the eye.

"You believe him?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do," his father said softly, staring back at him with solemn eyes.

"How can you be so sure?"

"The evidence, for one thing. Mostly, though, it's just a feeling I got after talking to him. The shit he told me…well, let's just say it's proved to be pretty fucking intense. And I made some calls, was able to verify some of what he told me, and…I dunno, Bray, but my gut tells me that the sonovabitch is being straight with us."

"You said he told you stuff…what did he tell you?"

"It's personal—you don't need to know."

"Dad, this thing was talking to you through _me_, through _my _mouth—I think I have the right to know what he said," he told his father rationally.

"It concerns Mary," John said tightly, and Braden knew even before his dad spoke again that nothing more would be said on the matter. "You don't need to know, and I'm not going to discuss it with you," John reiterated, and Braden said nothing as he watched with knowing eyes as his father fought to regain his composure.

After a moment, John sighed, running his hand over his beard in a gesture that Braden found comfortingly familiar.

"Look, Braden, all of that aside, my point is, I don't think you need to keep fighting Oliver. If you'll just…relax a bit and stop fighting him at every turn, you'll sleep a hell of a lot better, and I think he'll open up to you more, _talk_ to you instead of _taking control_ of you."

"Hmm," Braden mumbled noncommittally. "What does D think?"

"He's…distrustful. But he's been like that from the start, even though he's the one that told you to drop your guard in the first place. The thing is…Dean overheard a lot of what Oliver told me about Mary, and well, after that, Dean sort of shut down about all of it."

"So you're not sure how he feels exactly?"

"I'm not gonna lie to you, Braden. He hasn't said much, but I'm pretty sure he hasn't changed his mind about Oliver. But if you wanna know exactly what he thinks, you're gonna have to ask him. But I wouldn't recommend it."

_Well, shit._

"What it boils down to, son," John continued, "is that you're gonna have to decide for yourself what you wanna do. If you wanna keep fighting Oliver off, then I guess that leaves us back at square one, trying to sedate you at night and keep you contained, because as far as I can tell, he's not going anywhere. If you'd rather stop fighting, then we can see what happens, and at the very least, you'll probably get some decent sleep. So the real question is, what do _you_ want do?"

"I think…" Braden told him softly, "that it'd be pretty damn nice to sleep without worrying about bad shit happening."

"So you're gonna give it a shot, then? Try to relax your guard a bit?"

He wanted to tell his dad that he wasn't sure, that he didn't know what to do. But he knew well enough that that wasn't what his father wanted to hear. So he lied.

"Yessir, I'll try."

_More like pray that it's the right thing to do and that I'm not about to offer myself up on a freakin' silver platter._

"Alright then. I'll let Sam know, and he'll keep an ear peeled for you tonight. I think Oliver will take it easy on you tonight, though, so you oughta sleep pretty well regardless. But give me a call in the morning and let me know how it went, alright?" John told him, ruffling Braden's hair the way he had when Braden had been smaller.

"Yessir," Braden told him, giving him the smile he knew his father wanted to see, the smile that said everything was cool. Even if it wasn't. Because truthfully, all Braden could think was, _If I do this, who's to say it'll really be _me_ calling in the morning?

* * *

_

Unable to go back to sleep after the discussion with his dad despite the exhaustion still pulling at him, Braden got up and headed downstairs. His father, he learned, was loading his truck with Bobby's help, and Dean was…well, Braden didn't know where Dean was, but no one seemed particularly concerned, so Braden figured Dean was simply off doing whatever it was that Dean did when he wasn't playing guard-dog for the family.

Ignoring the game of Risk that Sam, Jessica, and Aubrey were currently immersed in, he found one of his sketchpads and plopped down on the couch with a satisfied sigh as the chaos raged in the middle of the living room floor. Risk was one of the few games that all of the Winchesters played with cutthroat enthusiasm and an intensity that often erupted into heated arguments. Which of course meant that most of the games were short, because their dad would put a stop to it as soon as violence became an issue.

"NO!" Sam yelled as Aubrey clapped happily and began to move in on Europe with a grin. "Fuck!"

"Sam!" Jessica admonished, but Sam, Braden noticed, was paying no attention as he scowled down at the board.

_That's right, Jessica—Sam's just as aggressively competitive as the rest of us. 's a shame you're only learning about it now,_ Braden thought with a smile as he started sketching out the idea he had for a few forbidden skateboard ramps. _Hmmm…maybe I could use that old rusted piece of whatever that I was messin' with in the junkyard the other day…what was that?_

Braden was in the middle of adding a line to one of the ramps on the page when Dean stormed into the house, the door slamming behind him with enough force to have everyone looking up.

"Hey, you wanna play?" Sam called out, obviously trying very hard to lighten the dark mood their older brother had brought in with him.

_Nice try, Sam, but he's not gonna go for it_, Braden thought, shaking his head with a rueful expression. Sure enough, Dean gave them only a cursory glance, everything about him screaming 'hot, tightly controlled anger' as he pounded up the stairs.

_Wait for it, wait for it._

A door slammed upstairs, right on time, and Braden smirked, quite pleased that he'd called it right.

"What's with him?" Aubrey asked, casting a wary glance upwards as Dean could be heard stomping around.

"He overheard some shit that Oliver told Dad, and it pissed him off…he's been out there pounding the hell out of some car for a couple of hours now," Sam murmured.

"It doesn't look like he's calmed down any," Jessica replied, giving Sam a skeptical look.

"Yeah, no kidding. Damn, I hope he's not up there breaking shit, or Uncle Bobby's gonna be pissed."

_Wishful thinking, bro_, Braden thought as something hit the wall upstairs with a thud.

"Maybe I should go up and talk to him," Aubrey said, but Braden shook his head.

"Nah, don't. You know what Dad said about that," he told her, reminding her of their father's warning to leave Dean alone when he was that volatile. It was a warning that hadn't been necessary until Sam had left. Dean's tendency to throw things around had grown as exponentially as his temper after Sam had left for Stanford, and after Dean almost hit Braden with a coffee mug one day, John had laid down the law, forbidding them from attempting to reason or coax Dean out of his rage.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, casting a glance upwards himself before turning to look at Braden, the conquest of Europe completely forgotten as he waited for an answer.

"Dean's had temper-issues since you left, Sam. Dad told you that. Of course, even if he hadn't told you, it doesn't take a genius to notice it."

"Quit skirting the issue, Braden—Dean's got a problem with his temper, I got it. But what is it that Dad told you guys about it?"

"Well," Aubrey began, "Braden almost got nailed when Dean threw a coffee mug one day, so after that, Daddy said we weren't allowed to mess with Dean when he got that mad."

"Damn," Sam murmured, wincing a bit.

"So we're just supposed to sit here and let Dean wreck the place, then?" Jessica asked, a hint of incredulity in her voice as she, too, glanced up.

"Yep," Braden told her, turning back to his sketchpad without another look. "'s not a big deal. Dean'll pay for anything he breaks later," he said nonchalantly. "'That's what hustlin's for."

With a sigh, Sam turned away, and the game started up once more, though with decidedly less enthusiasm than before as they listened to Dean raging upstairs. Their father appeared a few minutes later, standing in the doorway with a weary expression that was becoming more and more familiar.

"Dean came in, I take it," he said wryly when another thud sounded from upstairs.

"Yessir," Braden answered, not lifting his eyes.

"Shit," John muttered, turning to head up the stairs with a stride that sounded as heavy as Dean's had earlier. "Was hopin' he'd take it out on the car outside…"

As soon as he was out of sight, each Winchester looked up, staring at each other for only a moment before they all stood and hurried for the stairs. Jessica took a second longer to respond, but then she, too, was behind them, ending up behind Aubrey. They didn't even have to go all the way up the stairs, the voices of their brother and father loud enough to be heard from the halfway point.

_Hell, let's be honest. We could probly hear them from the living room anyway._

"Dammit, Dean, you've gotta stop this shit," John said sternly as the door of the bedroom Dean was inhabiting banged open.

"I'm so sorry that my feelings are so fucking hard on you, Dad!" Dean shouted, his voice thick with anger-infused sarcasm that was strong enough to have Braden wincing.

"Bobby's got enough to deal with without you breaking half of his shit, Dean! And I know everything lately has been a lot to handle, but somebody's gonna get hurt if you keep slinging stuff around. Now go change into some sweats—you need to go for a run, burn off some of this hostility."

"I don't wanna fuckin' run," Dean argued hotly, and this time, it was Sam who winced.

_Yeah, kinda sounds like he's channeling you, doesn't it, Sam? How's it feel bein' on the other side?_

"Too bad I wasn't asking," they heard their dad retort, his own temper heating up to match Dean's. "I'm _telling _you. And if you ever want the keys to your car back, you'll do what the hell I tell you to do."

"Man, Dad still talks to him like he's twelve," Sam whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.

_True,_ Braden reasoned thoughtfully. _Of course, Dean occasionally _acts_ like he's twelve, so I guess if the shoe fits…_

Nothing more was said, and without a word, the four of them scrambled back to the den, Braden hopping back on the couch while the others resumed their places around the Risk board as though they hadn't just been eavesdropping. Sure enough, a few seconds later, John's footsteps could be heard on the stairs, preceding his arrival in the doorway.

"Your brother's going for a run to cool off. Leave him alone until he settles. I've gotta get on the road. I want you all to stay here until I get back, okay? Sam…keep an eye on your brother, and watch over everybody, alright?"

"Wait, you're leaving now?" Sam asked, his voice rising with what Braden sincerely hoped was not the start of an argument.

"Yeah."

"Kinda late, don't you think? I mean, it's almost dinnertime," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, well, with everything goin' on today, time's sort of gotten away from me. I don't wanna wait any longer on this. The sooner I get what I need from this contact of mine, the better I'll feel about…well, everything. I wanna get going before it gets any later."

"So you're just gonna leave before Dean comes back? Dad, you can't do that," Sam began, but John shook his head.

"He doesn't wanna talk to me right now, Sam. Look, I'm not planning to be gone long. The time away from me will no doubt do him some good. Now I need to know, can you handle things here?"

"Yessir," Sam mumbled, obviously not happy with the way things were going, but choosing for whatever reason not to argue.

_Wow, nice change of pace. Strange as hell, though. 's like him and Dean switched places, like they swapped bodies or somethin', _Braden mused._ Or maybe they're like pod-people…cool._

Brief hugs from their father followed the somewhat abrupt instructions, and then he was gone. Dean slammed out ten minutes later, and Braden considered following him, well aware what the look in Dean's eyes truly meant.

_Yeah, better not. There's no way I could catch up—as upset as he is, he's gonna be pounding the pavement. I dunno, though, he's pretty upset…._

As the game of Risk between Jessica, Sam, and Aubrey began to heat up once again, Braden slowly rose and went out onto the front porch, dropping onto the steps to wait for his older brother's return.

Braden was the least emotional of the Winchesters, hard to rile and not nearly as sensitive to insults or the temperamental sway of his siblings. But he knew when his brother was hurting, and it bothered him. Dean was everything in their hopelessly dysfunctional family, acting as father, mother, brother, and confidante to every last one of them. And when Dean hurt, they all hurt, Braden knew. So if waiting to try and make his brother feel better meant defying his father's orders and risking his brother's wrath, well then, so be it.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Dean slowed at the foot of the porch, sweat streaming from his hair as he sucked in air.

"You okay?" Braden asked, knowing the answer even as he asked.

"'m fine," Dean muttered, brushing past him as he climbed the steps, a slight hitch in his step revealing the ache in his knee that sometimes resurfaced when he ran, an ache that he usually pretended didn't exist.

"No, you're not," Braden replied calmly.

"We're not doing this, Braden," Dean told him firmly, an unmistakably unyielding look on his face as he he went inside, and Braden sighed, wishing that his oldest brother didn't have to be so stubborn all the time.

_Or so opposed to freakin' talkin' about things. I mean, c'mon—people can talk without it being a chick-flick moment. 'sides, he's only hurting himself…and some of Uncle Bobby's personal belongings._

Except for anger, Dean was pretty much an emotional hand grenade these days, Braden had concluded, and unfortunately Sam's return didn't seem to have changed that all that much. Jessica seemed to think otherwise, but considering she'd only had maybe one serious conversation with Dean, Braden was skeptical.

And of course, dinner wasn't any better. Dean didn't even bother to come downstairs, having shut himself up in the guest room that Sam and Jessica had been staying in.

"Is it normal for him to shut himself up like that?" Jessica asked, glancing at the empty spot at the dinner table with a worried expression.

"Not really," Sam replied as he stabbed another forkful of spaghetti. "Especially not when there's food involved. He's not usually one to miss a meal."

"You think I should take a plate up for him?" she asked.

"I wouldn't," Bobby answered before Sam had a chance. "You goin' up there is only gonna make him feel cornered," he pointed out. "He'll come down when he's ready or not at all."

"Well I hate just leaving him up there…And he's gotta be hungry," she protested.

"Girl, your intentions are good, but you're best off leavin' him be," Bobby told her. "He's got somethin' of a mean streak when he's riled, and he won't thank you for it."

"Besides, you're not family," Aubrey broke in, swirling her fork around to gather up a bite. "If he wasn't willin' to talk to one of _us_, he sure ain't gonna talk to _you_," Aubrey told her apologetically.

"Aubrey!" Sam barked, obviously offended on Jessica's behalf, even if Aubrey hadn't meant anything by what she'd said.

"What? I'm not tryin' to be mean or anything. I'm just sayin', it's hard enough for _us_ to get him to open up—somebody he's only known for a few weeks doesn't stand a chance, no matter how nice they are."

_Very true,_ Braden acknowledged as he took another bite of spaghetti.

Nothing else was said, and dinner ended on a pretty sour note. The leftovers had been wrapped up and placed in the refrigerator in case Dean decided to eat later, and the kitchen was cleaned before the Winchesters headed for the living room and Bobby headed upstairs.

When Dean still hadn't come down by ten o'clock, Braden shared a look with his twin.

_Something's gonna happen._

She nodded back at him minutely, only to shrug helplessly. She went back to her crossword puzzle book with a dejected expression.

_Yeah, I don't know what to do, either._

There hadn't been a sound from upstairs for hours. Even Sam hadn't had any luck when he'd knocked on the door earlier. He'd been rewarded with what sounded to Braden like one of Dean's boots being thrown against the door. When the second boot had followed after Sam's second attempt to get Dean to let him in, Bobby had hollered for Sam to leave Dean the hell alone and get his ass back downstairs.

_Of course, Sam _could've _picked the lock_, Braden reasoned, _if he hasn't lost all of his skills_..._But if he _did_ pick the lock, Dean would kick his ass for it…Yeah, Sam probably knows better than to try that,_ he decided, going back to his sketchbook with a sigh.

"Guys, you need to go on to bed," Sam said, breaking the quiet that had settled around them.

_He's kidding, right?_

"You're kidding, right?" Aubrey asked, looking at Sam with a look that clearly suggested that he'd lost his mind, and Braden snorted in amusement.

"It's almost eleven, Aubrey, and it's been a long day. And Braden especially could use some sleep, don't you think?"

"Sam, we're fourteen," she retorted, a trace of smart-ass in her voice that Dean or Dad probably would have raised an eyebrow at, Braden figured. "Dad and Dean stopped telling us when to go to bed last year. We'll go when we're tired."

_Actually…I am kinda tired…_

But even more than that, he needed to talk to her.

He caught Aubrey's eye, giving her a small nod before he closed his sketchbook and stood, heading for the door even as Aubrey stood up as well. He waited in the doorway as Aubrey gathered up her own belongings, a massive amount of stuff that she'd accumulated in the few hours they'd been in the living room with Sam and Jessica.

"We're not goin' 'cause you told us to," Aubrey told Sam stiffly as she moved towards Braden with her hands full. "It's just 'cause Bray's tired." She stumbled right as she reached Braden, tripping over her own feet and Braden caught her right before she faceplanted. Without a word, he took some of her things off her hands and turned towards the stairs, planning to go up with her to collect her bag from Bobby's room, where she and Dean had been staying since the disastrous ritual. With their dad gone, Bobby had reclaimed his room, since no one really needed the ritual circle in there anyway. The older man had left it to Dean and the twins to work out the final sleeping arrangements.

"What's up?" she whispered as they reached the foyer leading to the staircase.

"Dad told me he thinks I should drop my guard tonight, stop fighting Oliver," Braden told her without preamble. "But D doesn't trust Oliver…I don't know what to do," he murmured.

"Did you ask Sam?"

"No. I wanted to ask you."

"Oh. Well…I know we usually listen to D," she said slowly, "but…well, he hasn't been really open-minded lately…and Daddy wouldn't tell you to do it if he didn't think it was okay, so…"

"So I should do what Dad says."

"Yeah, I think so. 'sides, you'll sleep better if you're not worried about Oliver. And if _you_ sleep better, _I'll _sleep better. It's a win-win situation, see?" she told him with a playful smile, and Braden couldn't help but smile back, already feeling better about the whole situation.

"So…you think Dean'll come down soon, let Sam and Jess have the guest room back?" he asked, as he led the way up the stairs.

"Um…I'm guessing no," Aubrey grumbled as they reached the top of the stairs and took in the pile of duffels, sleeping bags, blankets, and pillows that Dean had thrown into the hallway at some point. With a sigh, Aubrey stuffed her things into her duffel, which was sitting neatly outside Bobby's room, and grabbed what she could as Braden did the same.

"Guess Sam and Jess are gonna have to take the living room, now," Braden said, eyeing the still closed door of the guest room.

"And we've got the dining room floor," Aubrey grumbled, eyeing her sleeping back darkly. "Great. You're probly not even gonna have to worry about sleepwalking or anything—the floor's so hard, you won't be sleeping anyway."

Sam hardly looked surprised when they appeared in the doorway holding the collection of duffels, blankets, and pillows, and with a sigh, he got up to help them, taking his and Jessica's bags off their hands.

"Still locked in, huh?"

"Yep," Braden replied, heading for the dining room to set up his sleeping bag.

"This is ridiculous," Sam grumbled as he started setting the couch up. "He's acting like a freakin' teenager."

"Need I remind you that it hasn't been that long since _you_ were acting like that?" Aubrey asked pointedly, obviously offended on behalf of their oldest brother. "Dean at least has a reason. You used to do that just 'cause you were being pissy and hormonal."

Sam opened his mouth to retort, but Jessica cut in, putting an effective stop to whatever argument was about to begin.

"Alright well," she said, clapping her hands together, "do you guys need any help getting settled?" she asked Braden and Aubrey, and simultaneously they shook their heads.

"We got it, thanks," Aubrey said, smiling back at Jessica before preceding Braden into the dining room to spread out their sleeping bags. They made quick work of shoving the furniture over and setting up their sleeping bags, and five minutes later, Braden flipped the light off and settled into his sleeping bag, wriggling around for a moment to get comfortable while Aubrey did the same in hers.

"Bray?" she whispered a few minutes later.

"Yeah?"

"You gonna be alright tonight? 'Cause if you're not, I can stay awake with you if you want," she offered, and for half a second, Braden seriously considered taking her up on the offer. But he didn't want her to have to stay up all night.

"I'll be okay. What about you? You gonna be okay to sleep without that circle in Uncle Bobby's room?"

"Oh yeah—Dean broke the circle up the other day. But they don't bother me much at night, and Harold keeps 'em straight if I can't block 'em. But mostly I block 'em okay," she told him softly, the sound of her shuffling in her sleeping bag clueing him in to the fact that she was shifting onto her side, ready to sleep. But he had to know…

"Who's Harold?"

"Um, he's this dude…I think he's sort of doing what TK does for D. He kinda reminds me of Uncle Bobby…"

Within a few moments, her breathing slowed, evening out, and Braden knew without looking that she'd fallen asleep.

_Glad I didn't ask her to stay awake with me after all—don't see that working out so well,_ he thought as he rolled over onto his side, subconsciously mirroring Aubrey's pose. He really _was_ sleepy, he decided, his eyes heavy even as he wondered what would happen if he really _did_ quit fighting it.

_Maybe Dad's right—maybe I'll sleep better and Oliver will leave me the hell alone if I just chill out…and Sam's just in the next room, so if I do anything weird, he'll hear me…ah, what the hell—here goes nothing…_

And within minutes, he was asleep.

* * *

"_Braden, wake up."_

The voice echoing in his mind was not his own, and yet, Braden definitely recognized it. His eyes shot open in the dark, his heart suddenly racing as he swallowed back his fear.

"_You with me, boy?"  
_  
"Oliver?" he whispered.

"_Yes?" _the voice asked, a hint of impatience in the tone aswho he now knew for certain was Oliver waited for him to gather his senses.

"Um…what do you want? I thought…you were supposed to let me sleep."

"_That was the plan before that fool brother of yours decided to take off for parts unknown. You need to rouse Samuel and Robert Singer and alert them to what's happened."_

"Shit," Braden whispered, unzipping his sleeping back and slinging it off, even as he reached over to shake his sister awake.

"_Indeed."_

"How long has he been gone?" he asked aloud as Aubrey stirred beside him.

"_A considerable while."_

"Thanks for the heads-up," Braden said dryly. "You know, a little more advanced notice would've been helpful."

"_It took time to garner your attention, boy, time that has no doubt allowed your brother to gain quite a lead."_

"Bray, what's happening?" Aubrey interrupted as she began to throw off the last vestiges of sleep. "Who are you talking to? Oliver?"

"Yeah, he says D took off. We gotta wake Sam up," he told her, reaching down to help her up. She stumbled out of her sleeping back and together they headed for the living room.

"Sam," Aubrey whispered, tiptoeing toward the couch where he laid beside Jessica.

"Aubrey, the goal is to wake them up—why are you whispering?"

"Oh right," Aubrey replied sheepishly. "Sorry," she told him as she stepped toward Sam. Unfortunately, she tripped over what Braden thought was one of Sam's shoes and went sprawling right onto Sam, effectively scaring the hell out of him.

_Whoops,_ Braden thought as Sam yelled out in alarm, shoving Aubrey off of him even as he reached for the handgun on the end table.

_Oh well, whatever works._

"It's just us," Braden told him as Aubrey hit the floor with an "oof."

"Thanks for leaving your stupid shoes in the middle of the floor, Sam," Aubrey huffed as she picked herself up off the floor. "You know, I could've broken my neck or something."

"What the hell are you guys doing?" Sam exploded as Jessica stirred beside him at last.

_Heavy sleeper. Must be nice._

"Just thought you'd like to know Dean's gone."

"WHAT?"

"When did he leave?" Jessica asked, sitting up with a worried expression.

"Oliver wasn't specific," Braden replied. "He just said Dean's been gone 'a considerable while,' whatever the hell that means."

"_It means he's gotten enough of a head-start that we'll be hard-pressed to catch up if we continue to linger here," _Oliver said pointedly.

"You know, you're startin' to sound pretty damn pushy," Braden told him mildly, and Sam's eyes darkened ominously at the insult he imagined was aimed at him. "Not _you, _Sam. Oliver. He says we should hurry."

"Shit," Sam mumbled and Braden nodded, Sam's reaction being so similar to his own. "Is the Impala gone?"

Aubrey hurried to the window, peeking out, only to turn around with a shake of her head.

"Yeah, it's gone."

"Dammit, I thought Dad took the fucking keys away from him!" Sam said, frustrated.

"Sam," Jessica said softly. "That's not gonna help. We need to figure out what to do. Do we go after him, or just call your dad and wait here?"

"Yeah," Sam said, exhaling heavily. "You're right," he went on, glancing down as they all stared at him expectantly. "Alright, we need to wake Uncle Bobby, tell him what's up, and we need to get packed and out of here fast."

"Me and Bray can wake Uncle Bobby," Aubrey offered, grabbing Braden's arm and pulling him towards the stairs.

"_Braden and I,"_ Oliver corrected, and Braden rolled his eyes as he allowed Aubrey to pull him along.

"Yeah, do that," Sam was saying, already reaching for his jeans and shirt as Aubrey yanked Braden out the door.

Uncle Bobby didn't take being woken up at three in the morning well, and he took the news of Dean's disappearance even less well. Which was about what Braden had expected.

"Did anybody call your daddy?" he growled as he followed them downstairs.

"No sir," Braden told him. "Not unless Sam did. But I think he's packing our stuff."

"Packing? Ya'll don't actually plan to go after him, do you?"

"Why wouldn't we?"

"Uh, maybe because your daddy told you all to stay put?"

Braden stopped on the stairs and turned, raising an eyebrow at him, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"You serious?"

"Well, I _was_. Until I remembered that I'm dealin' with Winchesters. Stubborn as hell, all of ya, and nobody can tell ya a damn thing."

Braden shrugged and started back down the stairs.

_Not like you didn't already know that, Uncle Bobby._

Bobby reached for the phone as soon as they were downstairs, and he dialed swiftly, reaching John within a matter of seconds.

"It's me…yeah, I know what time it is, ya ass…I'm callin' because that boy o' yours took off…That's what I just said, ain't it?...Like I stood a chance in hell of stopping him. But I didn't see him leave, so it's a moot point, John…No, Braden and Aubrey just woke me…How the hell should I know?"

"You guys ready to go?" Sam asked, appearing in the doorway of the kitchen with a duffel over his shoulder.

"Now wait just a damn minute, boy," Bobby said, aiming a stern look at Sam even as he turned his attention back to the phone. "Damn it, John, what do you _think_ they're doing?...Of course they wanna go after him…They're _your_ children—stubborn as hell and just like you, every last one of 'em. You want 'em to do something, _you_ tell 'em."

Bobby tossed the phone to Sam, who caught it easily, scowling at Bobby even as he raised the phone to his ear.

"Hey, Dad…I don't know—you know how he is: if he wants to sneak off, the rest of us don't have much of a chance of catching him…nah, Braden said Oliver told him…hang on, I'll ask…Braden, Dad wants to know if Oliver knows where Dean's going."

"_He didn't say as much, but I suspect he's going to Lawrence, a fact which I'm sure your father is well aware of."_

"He thinks Lawrence," Braden said, and as Sam turned away to relay the information to their father, Braden left the room, thoughtful as he went to pack his bag.

"You know, this is a helluva lot easier now that you're not takin' over my body," Braden told Oliver.

"_Yes, well, it's much easier to communicate this way now that you're more receptive. It wasn't exactly a delight for me to wrestle you for control."_

"Sure scared the hell outta me," Braden told him.

"_I apologize for that."_

"So you won't do it anymore?"

"_It's a last resort sort of option, I assure you."_

"That's not the 'no' I was waiting for," Braden told him, and Oliver chuckled.

"_I don't want to lie to you, Braden. If a situation occurs where you or one of the others is in immediate danger, I might not have time to ask permission. I'll take control and will relinquish it to you when the danger has passed." _

_Guess that's reasonable. Not ideal, but reasonable._

"I guess that's okay, then," Braden said with a sigh as he knelt to roll up his sleeping bag.

"You know, Bray," Aubrey said then, interrupting his conversation, "you might wanna consider trying to talk to Oliver inside your head instead of out loud. Out loud, you just sound crazy."

"_She's right, you know. You do sound rather like a lunatic."_

"Who's fault is that? I can't help it…can I?"

"_With some work, possibly. As of right now, I think it's only possible when you're in a sleep-state. Or when you find yourself in a situation so stressful that your shields lapse. But your father and Ms. Mosely were right when they suggested that Dean can probably help you hone your control enough for us to have more…private conversation. If he's willing, of course, which is somewhat doubtful at this point in time. You'll have to work on him."_

"Got it."

"Bray, dang it, I'm talkin' to you! Answer me!"

Braden looked up to see Aubrey staring down at him with an annoyed expression.

"Sorry…Oliver was tellin' me something."

"Did he tell you why D's goin' to Lawrence?"

"Now _that's_ a damn good question," Sam interjected, and Braden turned to see him walking in with a serious expression. "Because we all know good and well that Dean hates Lawrence, so why the _hell_ would he go back there?

"_His mother…she's still there."_

"What?" Braden asked, his eyes widening. "You mean…"

"_Her spirit remains in the house they once lived in."_

"Does Dad know?" Braden asked him, unable to believe that his father wouldn't have rushed off hell-bent for leather if he knew Mary was hanging around their old house.

"Does Dad know what?" Sam asked sharply. "Dammit, Braden, quit it with the internal dialogue and talk to me!"

"You know, if you want answers, you're gonna have to freakin' be patient, Sam," Braden retorted. "Now hold your horses and gimme a damn minute to find out what's going on."

"_Your father found out when Dean did—that's why Dean's been on a hair-trigger all day. But John thought it wise to deal with the more immediate threat of the demon first—and he's right to do so. The demon poses far more danger to this family right now. However, Dean didn't see it that way, I'm afraid."_

"Shit, no wonder Dean took off," Braden murmured, relaying the information to Sam and Aubrey.

"Fuck," Sam whispered, dragging a hand through his hair, much like their dad did when he was frustrated.

"What did Dad say on the phone?"

"He said for us to stay put and that he'd go after Dean as soon as he was finished with whatever the hell he's doing."

_Dad must really wanna get his hands on the Colt…_

"So, when are we leaving?" Aubrey asked with a grin, and Braden looked back at her with a sudden grin of his own before turning to Sam expectantly.

"As soon as we're packed," Sam replied, a determined look on his face as he reached for the bags that were ready to go. "So move your asses."

"You got it, bro."

_Let's hope we can get to Dean before he goes and does something stupid.

* * *

_

A/N: Thanks to all of you who reviewed! You guys are awesome!_  
_

**LaraFinja**: Glad you found my fic and that you're enjoying it! I'm kind of slow with updates, but I do have some one-shots in this verse on my main page if you get impatient waiting for updates on this one. Anyways, thanks for the review! Hope you like the chapter!

**mimishell**: So you're probably noticing that I didn't send this to you to be betaed—I felt bad even considering asking you since you've got so much going on, so I just had Katrina do a five-minute look-over to check for crappiness this time. I miss your wonderfully honest comments, but I think I'll have to wait until you finish up with school and figure out what to do about that pesky lead issue at work before I can once again enjoy your beta services. Miss you! Hope the chapter doesn't suck!

**achillies_eel**: You know, I think you're like the only person who has picked up on the whole Winchester gun familiarity bit—it was so long ago that I don't think anyone remembers how easily Braden picked up that gun and fired it. So kudos to you! And of course you were right about the blow-up—I'm very partial to pissed-off Dean, for some reason, so yeah, that happens a lot. LOL! Anyways, thanks for reviewing! Let me know what you think of this chapter!

**irishgirl9**: Sorry you had to wait so long for an answer to your question…actually, you've more than likely forgotten what your question was, so I'll remind you. You asked if Oliver was going to be with Braden permanently if Braden accepts him. Thing is, it's irrelevant whether Braden accepts him or not—he's part of Braden whether Braden likes it or not. Not fighting it just makes things easier on Braden and Oliver both. As for hoping Dean doesn't go off to Lawrence, well…yeah, sorry. LOL! Thanks for reviewing!

**zuimar**: You're awesome for sticking with me for that two years that I've been working on this—has it really been that long? I wish I was a little bit faster at updating, but oh well. Haven't decided how I'm gonna work Dean's lack of closure in yet, but I shall try to do my best to let him deal with it at some point. At the moment, so much is going on that he hasn't had the time to deal with anything. Me either, now that I think about it…Anyways, thanks for hanging in despite long waits between chapters! And thanks for reviewing!

**jormaduran**: You know, I didn't initially plan to work the canon into this fic as much as I am. It's just sort of happening...I'm not sure how much of the canon I'll tie in, yet, though. I like certain parts of the canon and can totally see it being cool to work them in, but at the same time, I don't want to just rewrite the episodes with only the addition of my characters. I may end up taking aspects of the canon and tweaking them, meshing them with other bits. I just don't know—I'm sort of winging it at this point. LOL! Anyways, thanks for the review and for being so nice about the long wait!

**sd freek**: Welcome aboard! So glad you found me! And you left such lovely compliments—you're good people. ;) What you're probably learning at this point is that it takes me awhile to post new chapters—so sorry about that, but I can't seem to rectify the situation. Hopefully, you'll stick with me despite that, though. I'm glad you're enjoying the story—if you haven't checked them out yet, I have Prologue 'verse one-shots and two-shots on my main page, in case you're interested. Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing!

**Hicks07**: Hey, welcome back! Glad you were able to catch up! No worries! I'm glad you liked the last few chapters—hopefully, you'll enjoy this one as well! Thanks for the review!

**ohgravitysonfire**: You know, I really like that you told me you enjoy imagining the characters interacting _beyond_ the fic. That's cool, and it lets me know that I'm portraying my characters well enough for someone to be able to imagine them as existing outside of the story. Feel free to send me any ideas for things that you want to see—I can't promise anything, of course, but I can try to fit ideas in. I really enjoyed reading your last review—it's nice when people take the time to tell you just what they enjoyed or found interesting. So thanks a bunch! Hope to hear from you again!

**Yohko Bennington**: Yeah, you're right—John totally should've known better than to leave Dean to his own devices. He'd have been better off taking Dean with him to get the Colt. But then again, John seems the type to learn the hard way, so…yeah. LOL! RL is still sucking, but I'm working on it. I've got another one-shot that I've started, so that will probably precede the next chapter, but we'll see. Anyways, thanks so much for the review!

**eggylaine**: To be honest, I find John's POV very easy to write from for some reason. I don't really understand it, but it flows very easily for me. Next up is likely a Sam chapter in this fic, but my next one-shot is going to be John's POV, as so many of the one-shots are. Like I said, it's easy to write him. Glad you like reading his POV, though! Anyways, thanks for reviewing!

**saberivojo**: I totally got a giggle out of your last review—thanks for that! As you can see, John sort of got an anticlimactic response to his departure, with no one really reacting all that much. I didn't really plan it that way, but it just sort of happened like that. But I think I can get more emotional angst out of it this way—haha! Anyways, thanks for reviewing!


	41. Take Heed, Lest You Drift

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks for your patience, and I'm sorry for the long wait. Also, thanks to gcbravo for beta-ing this for me!

Chapter 41—Take Heed, Lest You Drift

Bobby hadn't liked it, but he'd accepted it, handing over the keys to an SUV and gruffly hugging all of them—even Jessica—before stepping back and watching them leave. And if Sam failed to mention that his father had told them to stay put, well, Bobby didn't need to know that.

They'd been on the road for a couple of hours, now, and Sam had been stewing the whole time.

"Hey," Jess murmured, "you okay?"

"I dunno."

"Well what's wrong?"

"I just…I don't understand why Dean would just up and leave without telling us, without telling me."

"Sweetie, I might not know Dean as well as the rest of you, but he seems the kind of guy to try and handle things on his own, that whole 'strong, silent' type. I don't think you should take it personally."

"But she was my mom, too," Sam argued, glancing in the rearview to make sure he hadn't disturbed either of the twins. Aubrey had settled back to sleep on her own, and Braden was doped up on Dramamine, so he was unconscious as well.

"No one's questioning that, Sam, and I don't think Dean is, either. I honestly don't think he thought about it."

"Samuel."

Sam jerked, his eyes flying to the rearview mirror to see Braden staring back at him solemnly. Or rather, Oliver, he realized with a start, registering the formal nominative that Oliver seemed to prefer over the shortened form that his siblings favored.

"Oliver?"

"Yes."

"Uh, does Braden know you've taken over?"

"He's somewhat indisposed at the moment, courtesy of that mind-numbing narcotic you pump into us for journeys in these vehicular monstrosities. As it were, I didn't feel it necessary to seek his approval. He'll sleep through it and be none the wiser."

"Right. Ok…so what did you want?"

"I thought it prudent to remind you that your elder brother is not known for his restraint, nor is he one to think rationally where your mother is concerned. You shouldn't, therefore, take it personally that he left without seeking your assistance."

"I could've helped him, though! And him leaving like this, it never ends well. He gets like this, and he gets reckless, and shit happens."

"Yes, I know. But your brother is an emotional being, for all that he doesn't like to show it. And with all that has happened of late, his defenses have been stripped bare. He likely didn't see another option, nor would he have necessarily looked for one. Your mother is his Achilles heel—much the way you are, Samuel—both of you are something he has no defense against. If he perceives any threat to her memory, he responds accordingly, the way he would against any other threat…" Oliver trailed off, not finishing the thought, but then, he didn't really have to.

"He tackles it head-on," Sam supplied. "Shit."

"Indeed."

"Do you have any idea what he's going to do?"

"Not specifically. But I imagine he'll do only minimum reconnaissance before he enters the house. Observation won't be high on his list of priorities."

"Oliver, is there any way for you to communicate with him, tell him to wait on us?" Jessica asked, turning in the seat to look back at Oliver.

"I'm afraid not, my dear. I can't shed this form to travel to Dean's location. I'm as restricted in that regard as you are."

"Sam, maybe you should call him again, see if he'll answer this time," she suggested softly.

"He didn't answer the last eight times I called," he told her, fighting to keep the frustration out of his voice. "I don't see him answering this time, either."

"You think he's okay?"

_No._

"Yeah, he's probably just playing his mullet rock too loud to hear the phone ring," Sam told her, willing her not to notice that he was lying through his teeth. Because Dean had an almost six sense when it came to his phone—he wouldn't _not_ hear it ring. No, Dean was definitely ignoring the phone, and it wasn't exactly comforting.

"So, um…after we catch up with Dean, then what?" she asked, thankfully steering the conversation away from that particular minefield.

"Well…you see, about that…I haven't exactly gotten that far yet."

"You should probably keep working on that, then," she said with a slight roll of her eyes, "but that's not really what I meant. I was thinking more long-term. I mean, are we gonna stop running at some point, settle somewhere? We're missing school, Sam, and so are the twins…I think we're fast approaching the point where we're going to have to repeat the semester, and who knows how much school Aubrey and Braden have missed."

"Enough that we'll probably have to repeat the tenth grade," Braden offered from the backseat.

"Jess…I don't know what to tell you," he told her with a sigh, his hands tightening on the steering wheel, his eyes remaining fixed on the road. "This life…it's not exactly stable. That's part of why I left in the first place."

_The other part being that I was tired of watching my family get ripped to pieces by supernatural entities on a weekly basis._

"Oh," she said quietly, and Sam felt his heart clench at the sudden realization that there was every real possibility that Jess might tell him she didn't want to do this anymore, that she wanted out.

_Shit. Please don't do this to me._

"Jess?" he asked her hesitantly. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she murmured, obviously trying to give him a reassuring smile but failing miserably. "I just…I was sort of hoping things would settle and we'd be able to go back to school…"

"If you wanna go back without me, I'll understand," he told her softly.

_It'll gut me. But I'll understand._

"I don't wanna go without you, Sam," she admonished, reaching over to lay her hand on his where it rested on the gearshift.

"Listen, I…I know this isn't exactly what you had in mind when we got serious…It's not what I had in mind exactly, either. I ran away from all of this because it's nine kinds of fucked up, and now, not only do I find _myself_ right back in the middle of it all, but I dragged _you_ with me, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry more than you know."

"Oh, Sam, you're right that this isn't what I had in mind, but…if I had a choice between being normal _without_ you and living this crazy, fucked up life _with_ you…it's not a hard choice, Sam. I'd rather be with you."

"Do you really mean that?" he asked her lowly, trying not to get his hopes up.

_Because I mean, who the hell would willingly go into this with their eyes open? Am I worth it?_

"Yes, Sam, I do. And yeah, it hasn't exactly been all sunshine and daisies, but…it's worth it if I get to keep you."

"I love you," he told her, gripping her hand tightly in his own. "You know that, right?"

"I know," she said softly. "I love you, too."

"And I'm gonna make this up to you, I swear," he told her earnestly.

"I know you will," she replied, smiling coyly back at him with a look he was well familiar with—after all, it was one of his favorites.

He grinned but before he could reply, he was interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

"Hello?" he asked, not bothering to even look at the screen as he answered, his eyes still darting between Jess and the road.

"_Where the hell are you?"_ his father's familiar bark demanded in his ear.

_Well that didn't take long,_ Sam thought dryly as he glanced down at the clock on the dash.

"Hey, Dad," Sam said with an ease he certainly didn't feel.

"_Answer the damn question, Samuel—now!"_

"I-29, heading south."

"_Dammit, Sam! I told you to stay at Bobby's and let me handle Dean!"_

"Dad, c'mon—seriously? You've seen the sort of mental state he's been in lately. And you bring Mom into it and he was bound to go postal—he's gonna get himself hurt if we don't get to him first!"

"_What do you know about your mother?_" John asked darkly, his voice dropping.

"Enough to know that Dean's flying off the handle trying to get back to our old house to save her. You know, if you'd just told me what was going on, maybe we wouldn't be in this mess," he retorted, finding it all too easy to slip into the familiar role of arguing with his father.

"_It was need-to-know—_"

"Yeah, and I needed to know! If I'd known, maybe I would've been better prepared, and maybe I could've kept him from running off to Kansas in the middle of the damn night!"

"_You should have stayed alert to make sure he didn't get out in the first place!_"

"Dad, he's not a dog that has to be kept in the house! And besides, it's not like you _told_ me that I'd need to worry about him taking off on his own like that—it's not like him! He's never done it before, so how was I supposed to know he'd do it _now_?"

"_You know what? It doesn't matter—I _ordered_ you to stay at Bobby's."_

"Look, you're wherever-the-hell-you-are and by the time you get to Dean, who knows what sort of shape he'll be in? We don't have time to sit on our asses at Bobby's and wait for you to _hopefully_ get to him first. So we'll meet you in Lawrence, okay?"

John was silent as he considered Sam's words, and after only a moment of silence, Sam heard him cursing eloquently under his breath.

"_Alright,"_ he said finally, his voice harsh in Sam's ear, _"you listen to me. When you get to Lawrence, you find your brother and you hole up somewhere and wait for me. No one goes near our old house until I get there—understand?"_

"Dad, I don't know if he's gonna—"

"_I _said_, do you understand?"_

_Shit._

"Yessir," he bit out, fighting every instinct that was telling him to keep arguing.

"_Good. I'm leaving now, and I'll be there as soon as I can."_

"Fine," Sam replied, hardly surprised when his father hung up without a goodbye. He dropped the phone onto the seat beside him, wishing not for the first time that day that his family was just a little easier to deal with, and that just maybe, things weren't so fucked up.

* * *

"How the hell does Dad expect us to find Dean anyway?" Sam voiced aloud as they hit the city limits of Lawrence hours later.

_It's not like Dean's answering his phone or anything._

And while Lawrence wasn't exactly a booming metropolis, it was still big enough to make finding Dean something of an issue.

"Maybe Missouri could help," Aubrey suggested, and Sam was about to respond when Braden suddenly spoke up for the first time since he'd conked out a mere thirty minutes into the drive, not counting Oliver's intervention.

"He'll be at The Saddlehorn Motel, Sam. You'll need to turn left at the next light—it's about a mile ahead," Braden told him matter-of-factly from the back seat.

"How do you know that's where he'll be?"

"Because Dean's a creature of habit, Sam," Braden told him with a raised eyebrow, his expression implying that Sam was an idiot, even if his tone didn't. "Don't you remember? Dad took us there the last time we were in Lawrence, after we overstayed our welcome at Missouri's house. Of course D will pick the same motel that Dad did—it's freakin' obvious."

"Don't be a smart-ass, Braden."

"'m not. 'm just stating the facts. You asked."

_It's annoying as hell when he does that, it really is_, Sam thought, rolling his eyes at the offhand remark. It was so like Braden to argue in that ass-backwards, passive-aggressive way, and it pissed Sam off to no end. _I mean, how do you counter that? I _did_ fuckin' ask. And for all I know, he really _wasn't_ being a smart-ass. Then again, maybe he _was_, and he's just playing me…dammit!_

"Well how do you know he didn't just go on ahead to help Mom?" Sam asked, antagonism beginning to leak into his voice.

"Because D's still a hunter, no matter how upset he might be. He won't go in _totally_ blind. He'll reconnoiter a bit, and that means he'll establish a base of operations first."

"You sound like Dad, Braden," Sam told him, shaking his head at the militaristic terminology his brother was spewing.

"Would you rather I said 'he'll need a place to park his ass so he can figure out what the hell he's doing' instead?"

"Braden, if you don't knock it off with the smart-ass answers, I swear—"

"Let's just see if the Impala is at the motel, Sam," Jessica interrupted, and with a last dark look at Braden in the mirror, Sam started looking for the turn-off.

"Jamie says Braden's right," Aubrey said softly, and when Sam glanced back, he saw her rubbing at her temple with a tight expression. "That's where Dean is."

"And Jamie would be another spirit, yeah?"

"Uh-huh."

"And is Jamie reliable?"

"Seems to be. But it's not just her—the others are saying it, too."

_Others? Shit, how many are talking to her?_

"How many are you talking about, Aubrey?" Jessica asked, and Sam figured she must have picked up on the same strain in Aubrey's voice that he had because she sounded worried, too.

"I dunno. They're all talkin' at once again," she said with a wince. "It's makin' my head hurt."

"Oliver says the clairaudience is like a beacon, that's why," Braden said offhandedly. "Spirits can sense it, and they're drawn to it like moths to a flame. And besides, this is _Lawrence_—it's a freakin' hell-gate. Hmm…that's weird. I feel like I've told you that before," he finished thoughtfully, shrugging once before turning his attention back to the window.

_Shit. If _Aubrey's_ having a hard time with the voices, how the hell is Dean gonna be reacting?_

* * *

Sure enough, Dean was exactly where Braden, Oliver, and all of Aubrey's spiritual tagalongs had said, and Sam pulled in beside the Impala with a feeling of foreboding as he watched Dean at the trunk, no doubt rearranging the impressive arsenal he had stashed there.

Something in Dean's stance told Sam all he needed to know about his brother's present state-of-mind, and apparently, everyone else picked up on it, too, as none of the others made a move to get out of the SUV.

_Great. Looks like I'm gonna have to handle this one alone…shit, _he thought, opening the door and moving toward his older brother.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean asked without preamble, slamming the hood of the trunk as he moved to pass Sam on his way to the driver's side door.

"What do you _think_ we're doing here?" Sam retorted, grabbing Dean's arm and pulling him back around, a move that would have been enough to get his ass handed to him, if Dean hadn't been carrying a heavy army duffel on his shoulder. "We came after your punk-ass," Sam told him, responding in kind. "Did you think we'd just let you go off and do this on your own?"

"As a matter of fact, yeah, I did," Dean threw back, dropping the duffel onto the ground and knocking Sam's hand off his arm. "Because to be honest with you, I've gotten pretty damn used to doing shit on my own. And I don't need you or anybody else to fucking hold my hand!"

"Look, man, I know the past few years haven't been easy, and I know I wasn't there like I should've been, but I'm still your brother!" Sam protested.

"And since when has that made a damn bit of difference, Sam?" Dean asked sharply, the anger in his voice striking Sam like a knife to the heart.

_Shit, I thought we'd worked this out? Where the hell is all this coming from? He said he wasn't mad at me anymore._

But he really should've known better. Because he knew better than just about anyone how deeply his older brother buried things. Any hurt, any disappointment, was shoved away, crammed safely behind the walls that Dean had built up since the day he'd watched their mother burn. And while Dean may have honestly thought he was over whatever anger issues he had with Sam for leaving, he obviously still had some pretty fucking strong feelings about it.

"I never meant to hurt you when I left, Dean. If I'd thought it would make a difference, I'd have asked you to come with me. I didn't _want_ to leave you behind. And if you'd ever needed me, I'd have been there."

"Yeah, sure. If you'd ever answered the damn phone. So forgive me if I have my doubts," Dean told him caustically.

"Dean—" he began, but his brother cut him off.

"Look, Sam, you've made it pretty damn clear that you want nothing to do with this life, so why are you suddenly so fired up to help me?" Dean asked, steering the conversation back around to the present argument.

_Yeah, anything so that you don't have to deal with what's _really_ bothering you_, Sam thought, but as much as he might want to confront the issue head-on, that had never worked well with his brother. So he let Dean steer the conversation, despite the fact that it would still likely erupt into a full-blown argument regardless.

"Dude, even if I don't want to hunt for the rest of my life, she's my mom, too. So why the hell didn't you wait for me?"

"I didn't think you'd care that much."

"What? Why would you think that?"

"C'mon, Sammy—we both know that if it wasn't for me and Dad always ramming it down your throat, you'd hardly give a shit about what happened to Mom."

"That's not true!"

"Who are you trying to kid here, Sam? She's nothing but a face in a picture to you—that's all she's ever been," Dean said, his voice rough with emotion, and though Sam knew Dean didn't mean it to be hurtful, the words stung, and he found himself lashing out.

"Yeah well, she's nothing but a faded memory to you! You were four-years-old, Dean! You can't possibly remember that much about her! Face it—your memories are more Dad's than your own!"

The minute the words left his lips, Sam knew that he'd fucked up, knew that he'd made a mistake. Of course, Dean's fist slamming into his jaw only drove the point home, and as he reached up to cradle his jaw, Sam could hear the doors of the SUV opening behind him.

"Fuck you," Dean said tightly, pitching his voice low.

"Look, I'm sorry," Sam told him softly. "I'm just saying you should have waited."

"Waited? Fuck that! Mom's _family_, Sam, and family comes first," he barked angrily.

"And what about _us_, Dean?" Sam asked him vehemently. "We're family, too, and you just took off and left us behind!"

"Yeah, well, you left us first!"

"And I'm sorry! What else do you want me to say? I'll say it!"

"What the hell could you possibly say to fix that? You walked out on us!"

"So what, you take off in the middle of the night on your own to get back at me?"

"It was never about you, Sam! It's about _Mom_, dammit! Maybe she doesn't mean much to _you_, but she matters to _me_!"

"She matters to me, too, Dean! And I'm sorry if I ever gave you the impression that she didn't, alright? But man, you've gotta think this through—you going in alone isn't smart, Dean! Anything could happen to you in there, and you know what? I'm not gonna let you do it—I'm not letting you go in there, not like this."

Ultimatums and orders from anyone other than their father had never gone over well with Dean, so Sam couldn't say for sure why he thought it would be a good idea to issue one in the middle of a knock-down, drag-out fight.

Unfortunately, it was too late—the words had been said, and there was no taking them back—and Dean reacted about the way Sam had expected.

"_Fuck you, Sam_," Dean told him bitingly, staring back at Sam with a hot, angry gaze. "It's Mom—she wouldn't hurt me, and I'm not gonna sit here on my ass waiting for you to look shit up while she's suffering. And just try to stop me—because unlike you, I haven't been wasting the past two years with my nose stuck in a fucking book. I've been training, and I've been hunting, and I can _promise_ you one thing—I've only gotten better in two years. Can you say the same?"

"Okay," Jessica broke in, "you two bitching at each other isn't helping, and it's certainly not making things any easier. Dean, I know you're hurting, and I know you and Sam have a lot of issues that you need to work out with one another. But this isn't the time, and this isn't the place."

Dean opened his mouth, his expression enough to tell Sam that he was about to argue, but she cut him off with a dark look and a pointed finger.

"Don't start with me, Dean."

Sam started to snicker, but just then, she turned with a look that Sam knew all too well. "And Sam," she began, "_you_ ought to know better than to come at your brother all confrontational like that. This isn't a courtroom, and he's not on trial here—he's your brother. He has a right to feel the way he does, and maybe he doesn't deal with it the way he should or the way you want him to, but that doesn't mean he's any less entitled."

"Okay, alright, I'm sorry," Sam said, putting his hands up in surrender even as he backed away from her finger of doom.

"You should be. Now what's done is done—there's no use in rehashing it when we don't have the proper time to deal with it. So instead of airing painful shit in the parking lot of some crap-motel, why don't you two agree to settle this later and we all figure out a plan to help your mom?"

_Man, I hate when she sounds all reasonable like that. Because damn if she isn't always right._

"Sam?" she asked, staring at him expectantly.

"Yeah, okay. I'll let it go if he will," Sam said, wincing inwardly at how completely ten-year-old he sounded at that moment.

"Dean?" she asked, turning to the older Winchester with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah," he mumbled, slumping against the side of the car with a sigh, his energy level seeming to deflate suddenly, as though the anger Jess had successfully quelled had been the only thing sustaining him. And it struck Sam then, how absolutely crap-tastic his brother looked.

"You know," Dean said softly as Sam moved beside him and mirrored his pose. "I didn't leave to piss you off. Ileft you at Bobby's, where you'd be safe. You were supposed to stay there," Dean finished pointedly.

"You said it yourself, man," Sam said, softening his voice to match his brother's. "Family comes first. We weren't gonna just sit on our asses at Bobby's while you were out here on your own trying to take care of things. Especially this. We know how much Mom means to you," he finished softly, and Dean sighed wearily.

"So you'll help me, then?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Sam told him softly."

"So I guess the biggest question now is," Jessica broke in gently, "are we going to go and help your mom _now_, or do we wait for your dad to get here?"

"'m not waitin'," Dean said staunchly. "Mom's been suffering long enough."

"Look, let's just figure out what's going on first," Sam told him appeasingly, not wanting to commit himself to helping Dean walk into a situation where he could get his stubborn ass hurt. "Then, whatever we decide to do, we'll do it together," he said resolutely. "Now, what's the plan?"

Dean looked down, not meeting Sam's gaze, and Sam sighed. "You don't have one, do you?"

"Not exactly."

"Damn it, Dean—you can't do that shit! You can't go into a hunt half-cocked with no reliable info."

"What do you want me to do then?" Dean exploded, throwing his hands up with angry exasperation.

"I want you to slow down and think before you get yourself hurt walking into something that you don't have any intel on."

Dean heaved a weary sigh, rubbing at his temple, and Sam was reminded of Aubrey's words in the car as they'd come into town: "…_they're all talkin' at once again—it's makin' my head hurt_." With her words ringing in his mind, the slumped set of Dean's shoulders and the shadows under his eyes suddenly began to register.

_Shit, he's got a headache, and he's trying to hide it. Stubborn bastard. _

"Hey, man, look," he said instead of calling him on it, "why don't we all go back inside and get some sleep, and then we can start the research in the morning?"

What he really meant was, 'why don't we all go back inside while _you_ get some sleep,' but he knew well enough that singling Dean out that way would only backfire on him.

"I dunno, Sam," Dean began, but Jessica cut him off.

"Dean," she said softly, "you won't do your mother any good if you get yourself hurt because you're exhausted. C'mon, you're not feeling well—some sleep will do you good."

"Ah…shit," Dean muttered, and Sam knew then that they'd won a reprieve. It would be a short one, he knew, but he'd take what he could get.

"D'you get a room already?" Sam asked him quietly, and Dean nodded, wincing at the movement.

"115," he replied, allowing Sam to lift the dropped duffel onto his own shoulder without a single complaint, which told Sam all he needed to know about Dean's current condition: Dean had to be feeling pretty fucking bad to allow someone to help him without bitching about it first.

"You alright?"

"Head hurts," Dean murmured, not seeming to notice the guiding hand Sam had placed on his arm. And that quickly, Dean's 'get up and go,' as Aubrey called it, was gone.

"Shit," Sam whispered as he was suddenly forced to take most of Dean's weight, his older brother's legs no longer seeming capable of supporting him. "You hearing a lot of voices again?"

"Yeah. TK's slippin'…yeah, I'm talking to you, you sonofabitch," Dean said, unaware of Jessica reaching her hand into his jacket pocket to grab his room key.

"He still in there with you?"

"Uh huh," Dean murmured as Jessica unlocked the door, shoving it open and stepping aside as Sam practically carried Dean inside. "Him and everybody else."

"Well, did he tell you _why_ he's slipping?" Sam heard himself asking, the inner voice that demanded answers never one to be denied.

"It's this fuckin' town, man," Dean said, stumbling a bit over the threshold. "Dammit, 's almost like 'm back where I started."

"Dean, _please_ tell me you kept practicing with your shielding after TK started helping you."

"Yeah…sort of…" Dean muttered as Sam helped him to the bed. He sank down with a groan, grabbing at his head before a panicked expression came across his face. "Ah, shit—Sam, I think I'm gonna—"

Jessica got the trashcan under him just in time, and Sam grimaced in a mixture of sympathy and disgust as his brother proceeded to throw up what seemed like everything he'd eaten in the past twenty-four hours.

_Lucky for us that doesn't amount to much this time. If you can say nothing else about Dean, he never does anything halfway._

None of them did come to think of it...

Without a word, Braden pushed Aubrey towards the bed where Dean was currently sitting as he heaved into the trashcan and pulled out a Sharpie that Sam could've sworn their dad had taken away from him the day before. Within a few moments, Braden had an elaborate circle sketched across the threadbare carpet surrounding the bed.

"Put some salt around it, Sam, just to strengthen it a little more," Braden ordered, sounding way too much like their dad for Sam's comfort. But he didn't argue, going out to the car to collect the salt from the trunk.

"Here, Sam, let me do that and you go ahead and unload the rest of our bags, okay?" Jessica said, not really waiting for an answer as she pulled the salt from his hands and left him standing empty-handed at the cargo bay of the SUV.

_Kinda eerie how well she fits in to all this_, he thought, watching her go for a moment before hefting bags out of the SUV, making sure the laptop was inside his own before proceeding to carry them into the room.

Dean and Aubrey fell asleep quickly, though whether it was Braden's magic circle or simply an exhaustion-driven retreat into unconsciousness, Sam couldn't say.

Several hours later, Sam's eyes were burning with fatigue brought on not only by a lack of sleep but by staring at the screen of the new laptop his father had 'procured' for him. When John had handed it to him a couple of weeks before, Sam had decided not to ask where it came from, simply accepting the offering for what it was: a 'gift' intended for researching hunts. Of course, that wasn't all Sam would be using it for, as he planned to keep it when he went back to school.

_If I ever go back. At this rate, it's gonna be awhile._

Still, his dad had been nice enough to gift him with the laptop, so he was going to put it to good use for the old man while he could. Unfortunately, he was starting to uncover things he'd rather not have found.

_Shit. Dean's gonna flip when he finds out about this…_

With a sigh, he shoved away from the laptop and stood, stretching until he heard his spine pop. He was heading for the second bed when Braden suddenly looked up from where he'd been sitting with his sketchpad across from Sam at the crappy little breakfast table in the corner.

"D'you find anything?"

"Yeah," Sam told him with a sigh. "More than I wanted to. Something bad is going on in our old house, and I don't think that's what Dean wants to hear."

"What is it?"

"Well, no one lives there now, but just about everyone who's lived there since our mom was killed has been hurt. Unless they were run off beforehand. Either way, _something's_ in that house. And I'm worried about how Dean's gonna react if it turns out to be Mom."

"You think your mom is the one doing it? Hurting everybody?"

"I don't know _what_ to think. I don't want it to be her, but…who else would it be?"

Braden didn't have an answer for that, and Sam sighed once more as he sat down at the computer, desperately hoping he could find something to disprove what the evidence was showing, that his mother _wasn't_ haunting their old house, that she _wasn't_ hurting people.

_But what if there isn't anything to be found?_

* * *

A few hours of sleep later and Sam was no closer to figuring out how to tell his older brother what he'd found, nor had he come up with any sort of brilliant stalling tactic. Mostly, he was just hoping Dean would sleep a little longer.

But of course the usual Winchester shitty luck proved true, and Dean woke up all too soon.

"Hey," Sam said softly, trying not to be too loud in case Dean's migraine was lingering. Dean grunted in lieu of a reply, rubbing at his eyes wearily.

"Is the circle helping?"

"Yeah, but I can't exactly sit on my ass here inside it forever now, can I?" Dean replied acerbically, and Sam fought not to respond in kind.

"About that…" Braden began,"Oliver has an idea that could help."

"No offense, Bray, but Oliver can take his idea and shove it u—" Dean began, but Sam cut him off.

"Dean, knock it off. We might as well hear him out, okay? Because it's like you said, you can't sit here forever."

"It's not even a new plan," Braden told them earnestly. "It's part of the old plan, the part we didn't do last time."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean asked, confusion beginning to overtake the hostility.

"Oliver was gonna do another ritual, add some additional shielding to one of your possessions, like your ring or your amulet, and something of Aubrey's, too. It's supposed to help."

"Why didn't he do it before then? Why wait?" Dean asked with biting hostility.

"He thought you and Aub needed to learn to shield as best you could on your own first, so you wouldn't be vulnerable if you lost the…trinkets. Oh, and by the way, Oliver, that's a pretty lame-ass word," Braden said, his attention diverting for a moment to what was no doubt an inner dialogue.

"Dean, what do you think?" Sam asked, quirking an eyebrow at his older brother.

"Hell no. Forget it. We're not doing any more fucking rituals. Now, moving on—Sam, what did you find out about the house, about Mom? Did you find anything?"

"Well…" he said slowly, hoping to stall long enough to come up with something that wouldn't set Dean off. But he hesitated too long, and Dean's eyes narrowed on him, even as his features darkened ominously.

"What, Sam? And don't you fucking lie to me."

"A lot of people who've lived in our old house have been hurt, Dean. None of them killed at this point, but I think it's escalating."

"Well something's obviously going on and Mom's trapped there by whatever this is," Dean said earnestly.

"Dean," Sam said softly, knowing he had to tread carefully or risk Dean flying off the handle. "Dean, I think you need to consider the possibility that Mom might have something to do with the people who are getting hurt," he told his older brother gently.

"No. She wouldn't do that, Sam. Mom wouldn't hurt anybody."

"But…didn't your dad say that spirits aren't the same people they were before they died?" Jessica ventured slowly. "Isn't it possible that she's…changed?" she asked, trailing off as she no doubt saw the same anger that Sam saw taking over Dean's face.

"What the hell would _you_ know?" Dean snarled, coming to his feet. "Just because Dad told you some shit about spirits doesn't mean you know a damn thing!"

"Whoa, whoa!" Sam interjected, moving to intercept his older brother. "You're outta line, man—don't talk to her like that," he told him sharply.

"Well then you tell her to stay out of it! It's none of her fucking business!"

"Dean, I'm sorry," Jessica broke in, obviously wanting to head the growing argument off before it escalated any further. "I'm not trying to say your mom's doing these things," she told him in a placating voice. "I just think you need to be prepared for the possibility. I don't want to see you hurt."

"Yeah? Well, too fucking late," Dean said quietly, as the mask he wore to hide his emotions slipped back over his face and he stared back at them coldly. "You figure out a plan soon, Sam, or I'm going without you. You've got until I get rid of this damn headache," he told Sam, dropping back onto the bed and turning his back on them, pulling a pillow over his head pointedly. Jessica sent a look Sam's way, her distress apparent as she looked back at Dean.

"'m sorry, Sam," she whispered, coming over to lay her head against his chest as he enfolded her in a hug. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"It's not your fault," he told her back, pressing a kiss to her forehead before resting his chin on the top of her head .

_Hell, with the way things have been going lately, Dean and I would've been fighting like me and Dad used to in no time, regardless. How did things get so fucked up?_

"Look I better start trying to figure something out—he really will go without me."

With a nod, she stepped back and Sam headed back to the table wearily. He sat down with a sigh and was just sliding the laptop closer when Braden put his hand down on the top of it, staring solemnly back at Sam.

"Sam? Can we talk to you?" Braden asked softly, nodding towards the door questioningly.

"We?"

"Me and Oliver." A second later, he rolled his eyes and rephrased. "Oliver and I."

"Oh. Well…um, yeah, okay," he said, climbing to his feet once more before following Braden out of the room. As soon as the door shut behind them, Braden turned back to face him, his eyes bright with intensity.

"We think we need to do the ritual before we proceed any further. Dean can't function this way, but he's stubborn enough to try anyway. We need to do it—with or without his permission."

"Braden…I don't know, man. Doing a ritual that involves him without his consent is just asking for trouble. It'll only piss him off, and he's hard enough to deal with as it is…"

"What other choice do we have, Samuel?" Braden asked with sudden vehemence, his eyes flashing.

_Whoa—okay, that's not Braden._

"Oliver?"

"What?"

"What just happened?"

"Braden and I are coming to an understanding," he said enigmatically. "Now if this can wait, we were discussing the ritual," he went on pointedly. "Braden is convinced, as am I, that Dean will attempt to enter your old home despite the spiritual activity bombarding him. Surely you see as well as we do that we simply can't allow that—it's _dangerous_. Whatever is left of your mother in that house may not be entirely sane, nor is Dean safe from her. The danger is augmented when one factors in the voices he hears. Such a distraction could prove fatal if his ability to respond appropriately to threats is compromised."

"Man…I see what you're saying, I do. But doing it behind his back just seems…wrong," Sam said hesitantly.

"He'll thank us later."

_Uh, no, I really don't think so. But damn if he doesn't have a point. Shit._

"How do you propose we do this without him finding out then?"

"I happen to have the sleep aid your father bought for us—it would be simple enough to have him ingest one. After that, we'll simply perform the ritual once he's asleep."

"Now you wanna drug him? You've gotta be kidding me, Oliver. Seriously?"

"Well, he certainly had no qualms about doing the same to us."

"What are you talkin' about?"

"Nevermind that now. We need to act on this without delay."

"And how do you propose we get him to take the stupid sleeping pill, Oliver? He's not just gonna volunteer to swallow one. He's nowhere near the level of pain required for that," Sam informed him snidely, annoyed not only with Oliver but with himself for even considering Oliver's proposal in the first place.

"Go buy a six-pack and we'll slip him something, Sam," he said, the sense of importance behind his words suddenly gone as Braden resumed control with his usual placid demeanor. " Honestly, it's not rocket-science."

_Smart-ass. He's worse than Dean, seriously._

But Sam couldn't deny that putting a roofie in Dean's beer would work. After all, Dean wouldn't suspect a thing, and he was all but guaranteed to drink a beer if he was given one.

_Damn._

* * *

Of course, Braden and Oliver's brilliant 'scheme' to get Dean unconscious so as to do a ritual that Dean had expressly refused worked like a charm. To say that Dean was pissed when he woke up was an understatement. To say he was livid was far more accurate, but then, in the Winchester family, actions always _did_ speak louder than words, and the lamp, the phone, and the coffeepot that he broke upon waking had all attested to his rage far more than mere words could have. He raged for the better part of an hour, yelling at all of them equally before his voice finally gave out and he shut himself into the bathroom, leaving a heavy, awkward silence in his wake.

"Yeah, so…that went well," Aubrey said, rolling her eyes heavenward as she flopped onto one of the beds. "You know, I didn't even have anything to do with this, so really, he shouldn't have even been yelling at me. Luckily I didn't take it personally," she said with a saucy grin, flouncing back onto the bed beside Braden.

"Nevermind that the ritual workedand he can actually function again," Braden muttered dryly. "It did work, right, Aubby?"

"Yep. I mean, I can still hear them, but only if I really concentrate."

"What about your spirit guide dude? Harry?"

"It's _Harold_, and yeah, he's still here. I think it's easier for him to hang around since we've got a connection. TK is probably still hanging with Dean, too."

"So then the ritual worked," Braden concluded, mild annoyance settling into his features. "Dean should be thanking us instead of bitching us out about it."

"It's not so much about the ritual, Bray," Sam said with a sigh. "It's that we knocked him out to do it, even after he told us he didn't wanna do the ritual in the first place."

"But even if we hadn't drugged him, we would've done the ritual anyway. Knocking him out just made it a little easier," Braden retorted, staring back at Sam with a raised eyebrow.

"We made him feel vulnerable, left him unable to protect himself if anything happened," Sam explained patiently, well aware that Braden honestly didn't get it. " There's a reason he doesn't like drugs that knock him out," Sam said bluntly, trying to get through to a younger brother who was almost incapable of getting some of the more subtle nuances of their enigmatic older brother's emotions.

"Wasn't he vulnerable anyway?"

"He doesn't see it that way, man—the way he sees it, at least if he's conscious, he can fight back on his own terms and not be at the mercy of someone else."

_Ah shit. Why didn't I think this through more? What the hell was I thinking when I agreed to this plan?_

"Oh. Well why didn't you just say that from the start?"

Sam sighed, shaking his head ruefully in lieu of a reply as he dropped onto the bed beside Jess, who was sitting there with a sympathetic expression on her face as she looked back at him and shrugged.

"So now what?" she asked him softly, glancing back at the closed bathroom door with a worried expression.

"We try to keep Dean from taking off until Dad gets here, I guess. That's what Dad 'ordered' me to do anyway."

"You really think that's gonna work?" Aubrey asked.

_No._

"Well…we can sure as hell try," he told her with a confidence he sure didn't feel.

"So who's gonna tie him down, me or you?" Braden asked with his usual lack of subtlety, but before Sam could reply, Dean slammed out of the bathroom and headed for his duffel.

"What're you doing?" Sam asked, his 'oh-shit' meter suddenly on high alert as he watched his older brother start gathering up weapons.

"I'm done here," Dean told him, chambering a round into his Beretta and checking the safety before shoving it into his waistband. "I'm goin' to help Mom."

"Dean, man, I know you want to go now, but I'm begging you here—I really think we need to wait until we have more intel."

_And Dad as back-up._

"No. I'm doing this now, and at this point, I don't give a damn what you think. The only question left is whether or not you're coming with me. So what's it gonna be?"

_Shit. What other option do I have? Damn, Dad's gonna kill us._

"Alright. I'll come," he said with a sigh, knowing even as he said it that he'd more than likely regret it. _Just like all the other shit that Dean's talked me into doing over the years despite the fact that I've always known better. _"You guys stay here and hold down the fort until we get back," he told Jessica and the twins.

"No way!" Aubrey protested, even as Jessica said, "I don't think so," and Braden shook his head.

"Look, guys," Sam began, "we don't exactly know what we're walking into here."

"We're old enough to come, Sam—Daddy said when we turned fourteen that we could come on hunts—we'll be fifteen in a couple of weeks," Aubrey argued. "We're coming."

Sam turned to Dean, hoping his older brother would back him up, but Dean just shrugged and continued to arm himself.

"Thanks for the support, Dean," Sam told him sarcastically.

"Look, what do you want me to say, Sam? They wanna come, Dad's cool with it, and we could use their help. So what's the problem?"

"'What's the'—Dean! First of all, Dad _isn't_ cool with it—if he knew what we were planning to do, he'd tear us all a new one! Second of all, we don't even know what we're gonna be up against!"

"So it'll be a learning experience," Dean said with a shrug. "And as far as Dad goes…well, it won't be the first time the twins have gone on a hunt with me that he didn't know about. What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Dean, are you even hearing yourself?"

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Samantha—they've actually gotten pretty damn good at this shit since you left. They'll be fine."

"Shit," he mumbled, closing his eyes in a vain attempt at garnering some patience. "Fine." _It's not like there's anything else I can say. At least, not anything that any of them will actually listen to. _

"Well if they're going, I'm going," Jessica announced, and Sam felt his heart seize with sudden panic.

"Jess, you can't—you haven't had any kind of training," he argued. "I don't want you hurt."

"So, what, you expect me to stay here?"

"Well…yeah."

"Samuel Winchester, if you think I'm gonna stay here alone in this crappy motel room while the rest of you go out, then you must be out of your mind!"

"Baby, we won't be gone long, and we'll make sure you're protected before we leave," he told her, the use of his full name enough to tell him that he was probably 'whistling Dixie,' as Aubrey would say. The odds of her agreeing with him went down exponentially whenever she used his last name in an argument.

"No."

"Jess—"

"Sam."

"We'll stay with her, Sam," Aubrey interrupted.

"What?"

"Me and Bray can stay with Jess while we're at the house, and we'll keep her safe. She's right about being alone here while we're all gone. I mean, you said it yourself—she doesn't have any training. It's not safe. So she can stick with me and Bray, and we'll watch out for her for you."

"But…you're fourteen, Aubrey."

Sam found his gaze drifting once more to Dean, trying to gauge his older brother's reaction to Aubrey's announcement. If Dean thought they were up to protecting Jess, then Sam would accept it. Grudgingly. Even if he'd rather Jess stay behind.

But Dean nodded, and with a sigh, Sam reluctantly acquiesced.

Jessica beamed at him, and with the last matter holding them up taken care of, everyone shifted into gear, hustling to get shoes, coats, and weapons ready. Within five minutes, they were in the car and while Braden lectured Jess on the do's and don'ts of non-active participation in a hunt, Sam found himself questioning the wisdom of what they were about to do. Again.

_Dammit, why do I have to be the one that thinks things through? Okay, so _Braden_ isn't exactly impulsive…but he doesn't really obsess over things, either…Dean and Aubrey just do shit and don't seem to have a problem with it at all. So how come _I_ have to be the one who thinks too much? But hell, we don't even have a fucking plan! Of course, we'd have to actually know what we're up against to have a plan, and oh yeah, we don't know that, either!_

"Quit it, Sam," Dean said suddenly, breaking into Sam's train of thought.

"Quit what?"

"That over-thinking thing you do."

"How do you know I'm over-thinking?"

"Because it's what you do, Sam. Besides, you get that constipated look on your face, and you start sighing and shit—it's annoying as hell, and you only end up driving yourself and everybody else crazy. So stop."

"Look, I just think we need to call a time-out and come up with a game-plan before we go in there," he reasoned, wishing he could get through to his brother, just this once. Dean, he knew, acted more off impulse and instinct than logic.

_Which is probably why he's always getting himself hurt._

"Dude, stop with the freakin' sports metaphors—that shit's annoying."

"Yeah, Sam," Aubrey said with a grin, "D's blowin' the whistle on you," she finished, chuckling, and even though it was clear that Dean was on edge, Sam was glad for Aubrey lightening the mood, though whether it was unintentional or not, Sam couldn't say for sure.

_Regardless, we could use a break...now if only Dean will go with it..._

Sometimes, he knew, Dean was willing to indulge their little sister's apparent need to annoy from time-to-time, and other times, it pissed him off. And more often than not, it was hard to say which side Dean would come down on.

"Don't start with me, Aubrey," Dean warned, but to Sam's amusement, Aubrey didn't seem the slightest bit cowed.

"Aww, don't be like that, D—be a good sport!"

"Aubrey, I mean it!"

"Is that all you've got? Dude, you might as well throw in the towel now, because you don't stand a chance with that kind of game. Ooh, hat-trick—go, me!"

"C'mon!" Dean complained. "Gimme a fuckin' break, Aub! Isn't Sam enough of a pain-in-the-ass for both of you?"

"Hey, I only did it twice, and mine were unintentional," Sam interrupted. "_Aubrey's_ the one who picked it up and ran with it, so blame her, not me," he finished, holding his hands up in surrender before he could get pulled into the middle of what was sure to go on for awhile.

_Dude, was that another one? Pick it up and run with it is a football metaphor, right? Hmm…maybe he won't notice. 'sides, Aubrey will no doubt keep things rolling. _

Because when Aubrey got it into her head to pester the hell out of Dean, she'd carry on for far longer than Sam usually cared to be involved.

"Yeah, D—Sam's on the sidelines," she told him pertly. "He doesn't wanna play."

_Case in point._

"You're just doing this to piss me off, and it's not even funny—it's just irritating."

_Well, it's a little funny. Actually, it's kind of a lot funny…_

"Well, you know me," Aubrey was saying, "I'm a Winchester, and I play to win, so I can't give up now," she said with a smart-ass grin.

"Dean," Jessica began, and Sam was sure she was about to put an end to the so-called game Aubrey was playing, "you know what they say: the best defense is a good offense," she finished with an impish grin of her own.

Sam snorted, even as the girls began to giggle and Dean groaned.

"Bray, man, back me up here," Dean begged, and Sam honestly thought Braden would come in on Dean's side, leaving them with two against three.

"Yeah, Bray—even the score a bit," Sam told him with a grin, finding it impossible not to jump back in now that Jess had joined in.

"Yeah, level the playing field, bro, since we're all teaming up against him," Aubrey laughed.

"Seriously? C'mon, you guys," Braden began with a raised eyebrow. "Quit bein' a bunch of bush leaguers and come up with something more original than the usual clichés," Braden said flawlessly, even as Dean groaned.

"You guys suck out loud, all of you," Dean complained, but Sam could see the smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. It struck him at that moment how long it had been since he'd seen Dean really and truly relax.

_Had to be before Oliver let the cat out of the bag about Mom, I know, but…how long before that? _

To be honest, it made Sam feel like a pretty shitty excuse for a brother. Dean always seemed to know when _he_ was upset or struggling with something. But how long had it been since _Sam_ had truly paid attention to _Dean_? Sure, Dean had started lightening up after he'd gotten a bit of control over the voices, but he'd never really fully relaxed, Sam realized with a sinking feeling. And he was reluctant to admit that the truth was he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Dean at ease.

_And considering where we're going, it's pretty damn remarkable that he's relaxing _now, he thought as Dean steered the car inexorably and knowingly towards their old house. _Of course, maybe that's why he's feeling more...at peace. We're finally _doing_ something to help Mom, something real, something immediate. _

_God, please don't let this go south on us…_

"Alright, all kidding aside, what're we gonna do when we get to the house?" Sam asked, hating himself for ruining the carefree mood they'd built but not really seeing any other option, not if they were gonna get out of this without somebody getting hurt.

"We're gonna go in and purify the fucking house so that Mom will be free to go," Dean said forcefully.

_Okay, not quite as specific as I had in mind, bro._

"Look, how about this? You and I can take the upstairs and leave the twins and Jess downstairs—that way, they can make a quick exit if the shit hits the fan."

"What the hell, man? It's _Mom_—she's not gonna hurt us!"

"Then who hurt all those people, Dean? I know you don't want to consider it, but _one_ of us has to."

"I _remember_ her, Sam, okay? She wouldn't do that."

"Dean, you were four when she died," he pointed out, gentling his voice to soften the blow of what he knew had to be painful as hell for his brother to hear. Besides, he really didn't want to get hit in the face again.

"You know what, Sam? You don't know shit, so why don't you shut your pie-hole. Nobody forced you to get in the fucking car with me. You said you were in, but if you've changed your mind, I can pull over and your ass can walk back. So what's it gonna be, Sam?"

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but a slender hand came down on his shoulder, squeezing firmly in warning, the message clear.

_Don't. _

And that was how Sam found himself, ten minutes later, following his brother into their old house with no plan and no idea what awaited them inside.

* * *

A/N: Title came from a phrase that I read somewhere in a book once upon a time. Alas, I don't remember who wrote it, or even if what I have is the original phrase or one that I changed in some way. So here's me acknowledging the possibility that it was a book author's phrase first. Maybe. Oh well, anyways, thanks for all of the reviews, ya'll!

**RodneyIsGodney**: I like it when people tell me the little details they like. The fact that Dean counts Hondas is what you mentioned in your Chapter 30 review, and it's hearing about those sorts of things that people like that are especially enjoyable for me. I guess it makes me feel good, like people are paying close enough attention to catch the small things. Hopefully, I'm making sense—LOL! Anyways, here's your update—hope you liked it!

**groovinontheinside**: Sorry you had to wait so long for your update—hope it was worth the wait!

**jnine85**: It was kinda nice to find out my fic was on someone's 'To Read' list—so glad you added it! Thanks for letting me know what you thought! I'll keep writing so long as you guys keep reading!

**ShortLILPunk**: I've missed you! I got so used to getting all of those reviews from you! I'm so sorry it took me so long to get this done—but at least it's a long chapter, right? Right? crickets chirping I don't guess there was much action in the chapter, but it's at least moving us ahead, so I'm okay with it. It took me awhile to figure out the logistics of how things are going to happen, and on top of that, I have been out and about a lot more lately, so it was harder to find time to work on my fic. Anyways, I've already started handwriting the next chapter, so hopefully it'll come along pretty fast. Can't wait to hear what you think!

**eggylaine**: Yes, Winchester stubbornness abounds! Fun times ahead! Glad you're enjoying the family dynamics, and I hope they proved true in this chapter as well! Let me know what you think, okay? Thanks for reviewing!

**achillies-eel**: Yay, more angry Dean! Fun times! Okay, so here's how I figure Braden and Oliver's whole 'not sharing thoughts' deal: It's kind of like two people sharing a room. They're still separate entities; they merely share a space, which in this case, is Braden's head-space. They can communicate and even influence one another, but they don't really share thoughts. Does that make sense? Let me know if I totally sucked at explaining this! Anyways, thanks for reviewing!

**ohgravitysonfire**: In regard to your question concerning with the dealing of Mary's spirit…I'm not sure yet if I'm gonna go strictly canon with it or not. At this point, it could go either way, though with the addition of Aubrey, Braden, and Jessica into the whole thing, it's bound to be at least a little different from the canon. I haven't worked out the logistics of it, yet, though, so I can't really answer your question. Sorry! Thanks for dropping me a line, though!

**dre20**: Oh yay! I love when people give my extra sibling fic a chance! Thanks for giving it a shot—I'm so glad you like it! Sorry you had to wait so long for this chapter—it tends to be a long wait between chapter updates, I'm afraid, though I feel like I sorta, kinda make up for that with longer chapters. Or maybe I'm just rationalizing…oh well. Anyways, thanks for reviewing!

**zuimar**: Okay, so when you hoped for an update "soon," you probably meant something less than a month…so on that note, I failed miserably. As always. Sorry, zui! As for Oliver, I totally meant for him to come across as sort of that upper-crust type, so it's good to know that you perceived him as such—even better to know that you like him for that! Anyways, hope you liked the chapter—thanks for sending me a review!

**gcbravo**: Okay, so I totally want to go back to the last chapter and start changing stuff, since Braden sort of lost his 'Braden-ness' in the last chapter. I didn't pay it much attention until you pointed it out, and now it's kinda driving me nuts. Anyways, I'll have to be sure to tell you to read this, since as my beta, you've technically already read it. But I did make a few changes here and there since you read it the other week, and since you were technically medicated when you read it, I think I can make a case for you rereading it. See how awesome rationalization is? And since I'm actually gonna send you the little chunk that I've just tweaked, you'll read it anyway! Brilliant!

**AmethystSiri**: So how did I do with Sam's reaction to the news about his mother? Like? Dislike?

**Legless Pooch**: Another Shakespeare fan, eh? Hamlet is my favorite play as well, and I was excited when that line actually fit. As for John's reaction to Sam mouthing off at fifteen…maybe it'll make it into a one-shot someday…Personally, I think John would have beat the fire out of him for that, but maybe that's just me—LOL! Anyways, thanks for sending a review!

**YohKo Bennington**: I got a giggle out of your review, mostly from the "*snort*" you had at the beginning. It made me laugh, so thanks for that! Can't wait to hear what you thought of this chapter! Hope RL is going better your way—it's shaping up on my end! Thanks for reviewing!


	42. Painful Confrontations

A/N: RL has really been rough lately—I was sick for most of October with an upper respiratory something that left me headachy and miserable, and then my puppy got hit by a car, so I haven't been much for writing lately. So I'm sorry for the long wait. I know this chapter isn't quite as long as some of the others, but I felt I needed to end it when I did so that I could switch POVs. I've already gotten started on Chapter 43, which is a Dean chapter, so it should flow pretty easily. I'll try not to leave you all waiting for so long. Thanks to gcbravo for reading over this for me!

Chapter 42: Painful Confrontations

"We don't know what we'll find in there," Braden was telling Jessica as the Impala rumbled down the road, "but if it's a hostile spirit—"

"It's _not_," Dean interrupted adamantly, casting an icy look back in the rear-view mirror.

"Man, seriously? You've gotta think realistically here," Braden told him reasonably. "_Something's_ hurting people, and thinking otherwise is just foolish."

"I'll let that go this time, since you don't know shit about my mom, but why don't you do me a favor and quit being a smart-ass before I have to beat the hell outta you," Dean told him darkly, and Aubrey couldn't be one hundred percent sure that Dean didn't actually mean it.

"D—I didn't say it was your mom. All I said was there's '_something'_ hurting people. Even _you_ can't deny that."

"Wanna bet?" Sam mumbled under his breath, and Aubrey winced, waiting to see if Dean was going to bitch Sam out for it. Luckily, Dean chose not to take offense this time, and other than a dark look aimed in Sam's general direction, he didn't reply.

The joking had been put aside in lieu of giving final instructions to the uninitiated one among them, which, in other words, meant that Braden was doing his best to impart to Jess in the meager ten minutes remaining of their drive the entirety of the 'how not to get killed' instructions that they'd spent a lifetime learning. Of course, in typical Braden fashion, he wasn't exactly trying to soften anything for her, Aubrey noted with a wince as she listened in.

"Now, like I was saying," Braden said, turning back to Jessica pointedly, "if it's a spirit, then you need to keep the shotgun ready—wait, can you shoot?"

"Um, just point and pull the trigger, right?"

"Eh, good enough," Braden replied with a carefree shrug, and Aubrey shook her head with a smile.

_Oh, if Dad heard you say that, he'd flip. 'Point and pull the trigger' is nowhere near good enough for Dad. Probably not for Dean, either, if the look on his face is anything to go by_.

"So if it's a spirit, watch for cold spots, since it typically means the spirit is about to become corporeal—"

"And how bad is that?" Jessica asked with a worried expression.

"Well, it's not _good_, since that's what usually precedes one of us gettin' thrown into a wall or slammed by some furniture. Anyways, if you see it, shoot it. Not all of 'em take corporeal form, though, so you'll need to stay alert."

"Well, what if it's not a spirit?" Jessica asked, and Aubrey could tell that Jessica was, at that point, really hoping that it wouldn't be a spirit.

"Then it's probably a poltergeist and the best thing you can do then is try and avoid the flying shit that'll be coming for your head."

"What?"

"But look," Braden was saying, "Me and Aubby can keep you safe. Aubby and I," he corrected with a roll of his eyes. "Whatever you do, don't wander off. Me and—Oliver and I can look out for you, but we can only do that if you stick with us. Otherwise, you're likely to get hurt."

"So what do I do if we get separated?" Jessica was asking, her growing nervousness now more than evident to everyone.

"Well, if you knew what you were doing, I'd say try to find us, but since that's not the case here, fall back to the car. 's where we usually rendezvous—you'll be safe there until we can get to you."

"You sound like Dad, Braden—junior soldier much?" Sam asked, turning in the seat to look back at Braden derisively.

"Dad doesn't have a monopoly on military terms, Sam," Braden retorted with a raised eyebrow. "Besides, if it was good enough for us, it's good enough for your girlfriend."

"Yeah, well whether it was good enough for us is debatable, but either way, you're scaring her, so knock it off," Sam pointed out, glancing at Jessica, who was biting her lip as she repeated Braden's instructions under her breath.

"So, what, you'd rather I lie to her?" Braden asked candidly. "Ignorance isn't bliss, Sam—you of all people should know that. Not telling her what could happen and then expecting her to remain unharmed is just whistlin' Dixie. Not to mention pretty damn stupid."

"Dammit, Braden, just shut up already!"

"Why are you gettin' so bent out of shape?" Braden asked, and Aubrey could tell just by his tone that he honestly didn't get it. "I'm just tellin' her what _you_ should've already told her: it's a dangerous gig, and—"

"Braden, shut it," Dean interjected, his no-nonsense tone signaling that he absolutely meant every word, and with a shrug of his shoulder, Braden dropped back against the seat, conceding to Dean's order without argument. Which didn't really come as a surprise to Aubrey—Braden might give Sam a hard time, but he rarely disobeyed Dean.

"Jess, are you sure you don't want to stay in the car while we go in?" Sam asked, and though she looked nervous as hell, Aubrey had to admire the way she sucked it up and told Sam no.

She gave Jessica an encouraging smile, but as she looked away, she felt the first inkling of unease begin to stir.

'_Anybody else startin' to think this is a bad idea?' _she asked inwardly, not really surprised when she got a chorus of yeses in reply.

_Dang it._

And her totally bad, heebie-jeebie feeling only got worse the closer they came to their destination. Nevermind that the spirits in her head were now clamoring for her attention in a way they hadn't done since before Oliver's ritual. Even though their voices were only coming through as vague whispers, a result of her mother's now-charmed ring, which hung on a chain around Aubrey's neck, they were enough to shift Aubrey's worry into overdrive.

And it wasn't a good feeling.

'_Harold? Do you know if somethin' is in Daddy's old house?'_

"_I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific about the house, my dear," _he told her. _"I'm not altogether sure which house you're referring to, you see. What I _can_ tell you is this: in this town, there are enough spirits lingering on this plane that the odds are in your favor that your father's house has some sort of active spirit."_

'_Will you be able to tell when we get there what it is?'_

"_Perhaps. I'm dead, certainly, but this isn't really my area of expertise."_

'_Huh…well, not to sound all Star Wars-y, but…I've got a bad feeling about this, Harold.'_

"D?"

"Hmm?"

"Somethin' doesn't feel right about this," she told him hesitantly, well aware that that wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"So you picked up on that, too, huh?" Sam asked dryly.

"Shut your pie-hole, Sam," Dean said, but Sam ignored him the way he usually did when he didn't want to hear it.

"What is it that's bothering you, Aub?" Sam went on, his tone beginning to reach sarcastic proportions. "The total lack of a plan, the shoddy intel, or the fact that no one outside of this car knows that we're doing this?"

"I dunno," she replied, even as Dean reached over and smacked Sam upside the head. "I mean, all of those are good points, but I was thinkin' more about the spirits all talkin' at once. Don't you feel somethin', too, D? That somethin's just not right?"

"It'll be fine, Aubrey," Dean told her confidently, but Aubrey couldn't help but notice that he hadn't exactly answered her question.

The 'bad feeling' was only growing stronger, and with a glance at her brothers to make sure none of them were paying attention, she pulled her and Braden's cell phone out of her jacket pocket. Calling up her father's number on the list of contacts, she quickly punched in a text, praying he would get it quickly.

daddy, where r u? plz hurry! sumthin feels wrng…

Unfortunately, he hadn't responded by the time they pulled up to the house, and Aubrey shivered as a chill went down her spine.

"Let's go," Dean said sharply, hurrying out of the Impala and moving toward the front door before the rest of them could even get out of the car.

"Dammit, Dean! Wait!" Sam barked, even as he scrambled out after Dean and the rest of them followed. They all caught up with Dean at the front door, Sam hastily stepping up to block Dean from view as Dean jimmied open the lock.

"Dude, did you even check to make sure no one was home before you decided to do a little breaking and entering?"

"That's what I've got _you _for," Dean replied absently as the lock clicked open.

"Yeah, well you're lucky I take care of shit like that—good thing the current owner freaked and left a couple of weeks ago. Hasn't been back to get his stuff, even."

_Great. So whatever's inside still has plenty of crap to throw at us. Lovely._

"Well if you knew no one was home, why did you bring it up?" Braden asked Sam pointedly, and Sam heaved an annoyed sigh as Dean pushed the door open. Aubrey waited for Dean to lead the way inside, deciding that Braden had a point, but Dean didn't move, standing there at the door with a strange expression on his face that had Aubrey forgetting all about Braden and Sam. And apparently, she wasn't the only one who'd noticed.

"What is it, man?" Sam asked Dean worriedly. "You hear something?"

"Nah," Dean told him softly. "I just…I swore I'd never come back here…and now…I'm back, and it's…it's hard, 'cause last time I was here…Mom was alive, and…well…things weren't fucked up. You know? We were normal, Sammy. And bein' here…it just sort of…hit me, that's all. "

It was sad, Aubrey decided, sad that her tough-as-nails older brother sounded so broken by something as seemingly innocuous as going back to his childhood home. Of course, what was even sadder was the fact that Sam didn't even have a childhood home.

Sam didn't seem to know what to say, settling instead for laying a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder, and at that moment, Aubrey forgave him for a lot of the shit he'd put Dean through over the past two years. Because when it came right down to it, Sam was here when it mattered, even though Aubrey knew he thought Dean was crazy-stupid for what he was doing.

Of course, Dean, being the chick-flick-moment-phobe that he was, didn't know how to accept the comfort and stepped forward instead, away from the uncomfortably awkward expression of affection, and Aubrey sighed, knowing even as she did that she couldn't let them all simmer in the awkwardness.

"You know," she began lightly as Dean squared his shoulders and stepped over the threshold, "wouldn't it be nice if we could find a haunted place that _didn't_ have furniture readily available to be thrown at us?" she voiced. "It'd sure as crap be a lot easier."

"Yeah, well the flying furniture keeps you on your toes," Dean replied, obviously grateful to jump on the opportunity to change the subject. "It helps hone your instincts—so suck it up and quit your bitchin'," her oldest brother told her mildly.

"Are you referring to the instinct to duck when furniture is flying at my head?" Aubrey retorted Because I got that one all on my own, thanks," she told him with a roll of her eyes, even as she resisted the urge to grab onto the corner of his jacket as he moved into the foyer with Sam on his heels. Instead, she shifted her attention to the sheer eeriness of the house and the chill that was still creeping down her spine.

Of course, the second she crossed the threshold behind Sam, things got even scarier, because that was when the voices fell silent.

"Damn, that's weird," Dean murmured, casting his eyes nervously around the entryway, even as moved further in to allow the rest of them to get inside.

"What?" she whispered.

"You picking up anyone in here, Aub?"

"Um…no," she said, glancing around warily. "What about you?"

"Nothin'. And as nice as it is not to have 'em yakking at me, it's kinda freakin' me out a little. It's too damn quiet."

_No kidding. If this was a scary movie, this would be about the time that something insanely terrifying happened—right after we get lulled into a false sense of security. _

So it was sort of anticlimactic when nothing happened. Silence met their ears and after a few minutes, Dean relaxed subtly, shrugging a bit as his stance shifted to one of cautious awareness rather than the 'ready-to-shoot' hyper-alertness that it had been.

"So what are we looking for, exactly?" Jessica asked as she followed along behind them.

"Any sign of what might be going on," Braden murmured. "Cold spots, weird smells, that little chill you get on the back of your neck when you feel like you're being watched—anything that strikes you as strange."

"Um, Braden, I hate to break it to you, but this whole situation is strange."

"Alright, listen," Dean interrupted, his characteristic impatience reasserting itself. "Sam and I are gonna hit the upstairs," he told them firmly. "The rest of you stay down here and look around. Don't do anything stupid, don't shoot Mom, and _stay together_, you hear me?"

"Do we have to split up?" Aubrey asked, eyeing the interior of the house nervously before glancing up at her older brother pleadingly.

"It'll be faster if we do," he told her softly. "Oliver…he said Mom's still here, and I…I need to find her, Aub."

"Okay," she whispered, because when it came right down to it, no one knew better than they did how much a mother meant. Growing up a Winchester meant that upholding the sacredness of a mother wasn't just an ideal—it was a way of life.

Dean squeezed her shoulder comfortingly before he turned towards the stairs, motioning with his head for Sam to follow.

The rest of them followed suit, breaking away to head towards the living room while Dean and Sam headed upstairs.

Braden held the EMF, Dean having long ago announced that Aubrey was not allowed to handle the 'sensitive equipment.'

_Yeah, like the tweaked-out old Walkman is 'sensitive equipment,'_ she thought, rolling her eyes heavenward, even as she conceded that she _did_ tend to drop things. Or fall on them.

Strange then, that they'd trust her with a shotgun but not with her older brother's improvised EMF , it had taken them a long time to work up to trusting her with the shotgun…

_But still, _she thought.

Upstairs, she could hear Dean softly calling for his mom, and Aubrey swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. Even though it had been a long time, she could still remember how it felt to call for _her_ mom, even when everyone told her it was hopeless. And for her, it had been. Her mom had never come back.

_Maybe Dean and Sam's mom _is_ still here…but what happens then? Is it a good thing or a bad thing? I mean, it could be good, 'cause then Dean would get to see her again. But then what? He'd have to…get rid of her. It'd kill him. _

_Why do I get the feeling this isn't gonna end well? At all._

Taking a page from Dean's book, Aubrey shoved the thought aside rather than deal with the emotional ramifications and instead eyed the furniture warily.

'_Harold? You got anything?'_

"_There is something very strange about this house."_

'_Like what? Is it Dean's mom?'_

"_It isn't a woman."_

'_Who is he, then?'_

"_Not a man, either," _another voice interrupted, and Aubrey bit her lip.

'_Then what is it?_

_Please don't say it's a demon, please don't say it's a demon._

"Dammit, Aubrey!"

She finally clued in to her twin's exasperated voice, and with an annoyed wrinkle of her nose, she rolled her eyes.

"What?"

"Pay attention," Braden barked at her, shaking his head. "What the hell?"

"Dude, I've got voices in my head—it gets crowded in here! Gimme a break, already!"

"Like I don't have voices in _my_ head?" he retorted.

"Yeah, well…_you've_ only got _one_. I got a crapload of people in here! So shut your pie-hole," she told him testily.

"Uh, guys, you wanna focus here?" Jess interrupted, and Braden turned to her, quirking an eyebrow.

"You mind?" he asked pointedly. "We're kinda having a sibling bitch-fest here, and you're interrupting."

"Oh…sorry," Jessica said lamely, glancing upwards as though wishing she'd gone with Sam and Dean. Which, Aubrey admitted, was probably exactly what she was thinking.

"Now look, Aubrey, you gotta shut that stuff off while we're busy."

"Oh, like _you _do? Oliver only shuts up because he _wants_ to, not because you're doing anything super-duper-special. Get over yourself."

"I can still fight him off if I want—"

"Yeah, if you're willing to go days without sleep," she threw back, smirking when he looked momentarily flummoxed. "Way to go, Bray!" she told him, sarcastically punching him on the shoulder.

"Hey, you wouldn't be sleeping at all if it wasn't for me and Oliver drawing the wards and charming your stuff."

"Bullcrap! I was totally sleeping before you charmed stuff. And if it wasn't for this stupid town, I wouldn't have needed a stupid charm!"

"But the fact remains that without _us_, you and Dean would've gone bat-shit crazy."

"…Anyway, that's not even what we were arguing about," she retorted, knowing she probably couldn't win if he turned it around to that angle. "We were talking about how hard it is to focus when you've got other people in your head—you can't deny that it's distracting, Braden, you totally can't! And don't even try because we've all seen you forget all about what's going on because you were having a conversation with Oliver. Out loud, I might add."

"Oliver's been with me since forever—he's kind of hard to ignore. You've only had the voices in your head for—"

"WOULD YOU TWO KNOCK IT OFF ALREADY?" Dean shouted downstairs all of a sudden, cutting off Braden's reply. "I CAN HEAR YOU ALL THE WAY UP HERE! NOW SHUT THE HELL UP AND FOCUS, DAMMIT!"

"Sorry, Dean!" they both shouted back, and as they resumed the task of scanning the living room with the EMF, Aubrey could see Jessica shaking her head ruefully at them.

Without another word, Aubrey closed her eyes, calming her mind like Missouri had told her to, and after a few moments, she was able to block out the lingering voices, muttering a mild apology to Harold before shutting him out, too. The way she figured it, he could probably still get through to her if he pushed, so it wasn't any big deal, she reasoned.

"Ready?" Braden asked her softly as she opened her eyes, his own identical gaze staring back at her knowingly.

"Yeah. Jess?"

"Um, yeah, I'm ready," Jessica replied, and Aubrey had to give her credit for lying through her teeth when it was so obvious that she was terrified.

"It's not too late to wait for us in the car," Aubrey offered, but Jessica shook her head, offering Aubrey a brave smile.

"No, I'm good."

_You know, I like her. She's good people._

They made relatively quick work of the living room with nothing more than an occasional blip on the EMF detector. They were starting towards the kitchen, when Jessica interrupted the silence.

"Um, is anyone else starting to feel like they're being watched?"

"Yeah, I'm gettin' that, too," Braden replied, and Aubrey frowned, peering around Braden to look at the EMF detector, which was suddenly picking up some EMF spikes.

She hadn't picked up on the sensation at all until they'd mentioned it, and for a second she found herself having a complete 'what the crap?' moment.

_Is this stupid clairaudience messin' everything up, or what? Why didn't_ I_ feel the weirdness when _they_ did? Could it be the charm and not the clairaudience? Maybe I should take it off—Daddy would tell me to, if it was interferin' with my instincts. But what if the voices are too much without it? Instincts or a migraine—what do I pick?_

_Dean's right—this _is_ a stupid town. _

Suddenly, something seemed to push her from behind, and she found herself stumbling, tripping into Braden, who only barely managed to maintain his footing. He righted her with a mildly annoyed look before turning away, obviously assuming that Aubrey had tripped as a result of her natural klutziness. But Aubrey wasn't paying much attention to him at that point, her heart pounding in her chest as she opened herself up, seeking out the familiar presence of Harold in her mind.

'_Harold?'_

"_You need to leave!" _he told her urgently, and Aubrey felt her stomach plummet. Because it was already too late.

"_GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT…"_

The voice suddenly screaming at her was unfamiliar but definitely hostile, and it wasn't even in her mind to ignore it. Unfortunately, before she could call out a warning, things in the room started flying, and with a scream, she hit the ground just in time to avoid the book hurtling towards her from the bookcase.

"We're not prepared for this! We need to get out!" Braden yelled out, even as he threw himself sideways to avoid the coffee table that was shooting across the floor towards him. "Jess, head for the door! We're right behind you!"

"Aubrey! You getting anything?" Aubrey heard Dean bellow from upstairs, and judging by the muffled thumps she could hear above her, she figured that the shmoo must have been hitting the fan upstairs, too.

"Other than the fact that some major stuff just started happening and it's bad, no!" she hollered back, ducking as a lamp flew towards her. "We gotta go!"

The sound of her older brothers' footsteps pounded above them as they hurried towards the staircase, Dean barking at them to get moving.

"Oh, shit!" she heard Sam yell, and a second later, Aubrey saw him fly off the stairway, bypassing the last handful of stairs as he was shoved headfirst towards the floor by an unseen hand.

"Tuck and roll!" Dean yelled out, but luckily, Sam hadn't forgotten that particular lesson from their father, his shoulders hunching as he pulled himself into a fetal position before he hit the ground. He took the brunt of the fall on his shoulder, rolling with the impact like they'd been taught. It still didn't feel too pleasant, Aubrey knew, but at least nothing would get broken. Provided, of course, that Sam didn't screw it up…

"Sam!" Jessica screamed, starting toward him only to get yanked off her feet by unseen hands. Her palms slapped hard against the hardwood floor as she fell with a scream, and Aubrey was running forward when she was knocked sideways by the same force that had just hit Jessica and Sam. She went sprawling with a squeal of alarm. She tried to regain her footing, only to get knocked back down when Braden got tossed into her.

"Ow!"

"Move! Move!" Braden hollered, leaping to his feet and hauling her up behind him, looking around frantically for Jessica. A few feet away from them, she was hurrying to her feet and starting for Sam, who was picking himself up, only a few feet from the front door.

"Take Jess and go, Sam! We'll go out the back!" Braden shouted, pulling Aubrey towards the kitchen where the back door was located.

Another series of thumps above them was followed by a blast from Dean's shotgun, and a moment later, Dean was suddenly thrown from the second floor landing with a shout of alarm. Luckily, Dean remembered his own warning and tucked into a ball before he smashed into the floor, but Aubrey couldn't help the panic that shot through her.

"DEAN!" she yelled, pulling away from Braden to turn towards Dean. Sam, who was shielding Jess as he pushed her toward the door, shouted her name, but she ignored him as she tried to dodge the flying objects and still avoid the debris on the floor. She was almost to him when Harold shouted a warning.

"_Duck!"_

She dropped to the floor, shrieking when a lamp just barely missed hitting her in the head. Suddenly, objects seemed to be hurling themselves everywhere, a cyclone of fury that had Aubrey huddling on the floor with her arms over her head as she tried to protect herself.

"Aubrey!" Braden shouted again, and peeking through her arms, she could see him suddenly flung back through the door of the kitchen.

"Go out the back, Braden—I got her! Sam, catch!" she heard Dean yell, and from what little sound she could hear among the cacophony of noise, she was pretty sure the shotgun had just changed hands. "Go, Sam!"

And then Dean was there, picking her up from behind and putting her on her feet, shoving her towards the front door as he covered her from behind, his hands gripping her arms tightly. She heard him stifle a groan, and it wasn't hard to figure out that he'd been hit by something. It was more of a question of what and how bad, Aubrey knew, and she could only hope it wasn't serious.

Ahead of them, she could see Sam pushing Jess ahead of him through the front door, but she didn't see Braden.

"BRAY!"

"He's outside! Keep moving!" Dean shouted. "Do you hear it?" he yelled into her ear, and she was about to ask him what he was talking about when she heard it, the same voice she'd heard for just a moment before, and it was nothing if not chilling.

"_MINE MINE MINE MINE…"_

Something slammed into them from the side, and she faltered as part of it clipped her shoulder even as Dean took the brunt of the blow on his back.

"Maybe if we just tried to talk to—"

"No! Don't open yourself up to it, Aubrey!" Dean shouted back at her, pushing her head down and ducking his own as a chair flew over them.

A massive force propelled her the last few feet out the door before it slammed shut behind them with a resounding thud. They practically fell off the porch, tripping over one another before they dropped onto the lawn, breathing heavily.

"Aubby, you okay?" Braden asked, coming toward them and holding out his hand to help her up.

"Yeah, I think so," she murmured, placing her hand in his and letting him haul her upright. "Dean?"

She turned to see Dean, on his knees, staring back at the house with an unreadable expression, blood slowly trickling down from his hairline. "D? Are you okay?" she asked, crouching down beside him and laying a hand on his shoulder. He promptly shrugged her off, his eyes never leaving the house. Aubrey glanced at Sam, but he shook his head, apparently just as unsure as she was about what to do.

"_Yo, girl!"_

She paused as the unfamiliar voice swept through her mind, and though she was leery of opening herself up more to a voice she didn't know, she reluctantly let him in.

'_Yeah?'_

"_Listen, you're gonna have to help your boy here—he's not lettin' me in.'_

'_Are you TK?'_

"_Yeah."_

'_Are you gettin' _anything_ from him at all?'_

"_Nah, he's locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Hell, if he'd been able to do this earlier, he'd have never needed me in the first place. I mean, damn… I can't get in at _all_, and neither can any of the others."_

'_That's really not good, TK.'_

"_You're tellin' me—it's like I'm six fucking years old and gettin' the silent treatment or some shit."_

'_Yeah, we get that a lot,' _she told him, worriedly glancing back at Dean. _'But I don't know what to do—when D goes all quiet, not much can pull him out of it, except maybe Sam. But I dunno if that's gonna work this time.'_

"_Well, damn, girl—we're shit outta luck, it sounds like."_

'_Sure looks that way.'_

"Look, we gotta get outta here before someone notices us," Sam said softly, setting his hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezing gently.

"'m not leavin'," Dean said, his voice so soft that Aubrey almost missed it.

"Dean, c'mon, man—we can't stay here. We need to go back to the motel and regroup, see if we can get a handle on this."

"NO, SAM!"

_Okay, so maybe Sam's tried and true method of pissing people off with his annoying logic is gonna pay off—at least Dean's talking…well, yelling. Whatever works._

"I am _not_ leaving without you," Sam barked, his eyes flashing angrily.

"Guess you're not leavin'!" Dean shouted back, and Aubrey cast a nervous look around. Surely someone was gonna notice if they stood here much longer.

"Man, look," Sam said with a sigh, "we need to go. We can come back after we come up with a better way to tackle this, one that won't get one of us hurt."

Dean stared back at Sam for a moment, and Aubrey could practically see him slipping back toward the silence that he seemed to be wrapping himself in more and more these days. Without another word, he slowly shook his head and turned his gaze back to the house.

A screech of tires on pavement interrupted whatever reply Sam was about to make, and Aubrey looked up to see a familiar black truck lurch to a stop at the curb. Their father jumped out and hurried to them, dropping to one knee in front of Dean and cupping Dean's face in his hands, obviously picking up on which one of them needed him most.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded, a hint of panic in his voice as he searched Dean's face for the truth, eyeing the trickle of blood on Dean's forehead as his hands dropped to Dean's shoulders. "Answer me!"

Dean shook his head, his gaze shifting back to the house as he stared past John's shoulder with a look that Aubrey could only describe as 'wrecked.'

"What happened?" John asked, his eyes seeking out Sam's for answers when it became obvious that Dean wasn't going to reply.

"Something attacked us," Sam replied softly, glancing sympathetically at their older brother before once again meeting their father's eyes.

"Was it your mother?" John asked, his voice tight as he stared up at Sam with eyes that looked all too much like Dean's at that moment.

"It had to be, Dad," Sam murmured. "I'm sorry."

"No," Dean bit out, his voice low, a familiar blankness dropping over his face and leaving nothing behind but a cold mask of barely concealed rage.

_Don't push it, Sam, please don't push it. _Because anyone could see that Dean was a step away from snapping, from slamming a lid on his emotions that would just as effectively shut off his voice as readily as it shut off everything else.

"Man, look, I'm sorry," Sam said, not unkindly, but he didn't get much farther than that as Dean suddenly jerked away from their father and rose, his fists clenched as he moved toward Sam menacingly. John moved to intercept him, grabbing Dean by the arms and yanking him to a stop.

"Enough," he said sternly. "We'll talk about this back at the motel—we're too exposed here. Dean, give Sam the keys to the Impala—you're with me."

"No. 'm stayin' here. 'm gonna help Mom."

Aubrey winced at the open defiance. Sure, Dean was twenty-four years old and an adult by all moral and legal standards, but still…that sort of attitude had never gone over well with their dad, and Aubrey doubted that that had changed in, well, the last two days.

She was right, too, she saw as their father leaned forward, inserting himself into Dean's space with an expression that was clearly a warning.

"I wasn't asking you—I was telling you," John said tightly, reaching into Dean's pocket and pulling out the car keys. He tossed them to Sam without looking away, his eyes fixed on his oldest son. "We can't do this now—we can't stay here. It's too dangerous. So you go plant your ass in my truck, right the fuck now, or I'll do it for you. Because I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you stay here and get hurt."

Dean opened his mouth and Aubrey just knew he was about to issue an ill-fated 'fuck you' to their father. But of course, if Aubrey saw it coming, then John no doubt saw it coming as well, and before Dean could get the words out, John was shaking his head.

"Don't," John told him lowly. "Don't say something you're gonna regret."

"Dean," Sam murmured, stepping closer and raising his had to touch Dean's shoulder. He rethought the action when Dean's eyes followed his hand with a look that promised swift retaliation if he tried it. "Look, man, I know this is tough, but…c'mon, don't do this here. Just hold it together for a little longer, that's all we're asking."

Almost shaking with the effort it took to stay in control, Dean gave their father one last dark look before he spun on his heel and headed for the truck without another word. They all watched wordlessly as the truck door slammed shut behind Dean before heaving a collective sigh of relief.

"Damn, Dad," Sam breathed out, shaking his head. "You're gonna have a helluva ride back to the motel."

"You kiddin' me?" John asked, without a trace of humor. "He's so pissed at me right now, he's not gonna be saying one fucking word to me," John said ruefully. "No, he's saving up for when we get back to the motel. You guys might wanna make yourselves scarce."

"Nah, we'll stay. I've got a feeling you're gonna need some help with damage control."

_This is true, _she decided, already thinking about the stuff that was no doubt gonna get broken when Dean lost his shit when they got back to the motel. She was about to offer this helpful bit of insight when John's gaze suddenly honed in on Sam, his eyes narrowing as he took in what Aubrey had quit noticing some time ago.

"What happened?" Dad asked him, crossing to Sam and gently shifting him so he could see the light bruising on Sam's jaw—the result of his collision with Dean's fist in the parking lot earlier.

"Oh, that? Uh, it's nothing," Sam hedged, pulling away with a nonchalant shrug that Aubrey knew wasn't going to deter their dad.

"Sam—"

"Dean hit him," Braden supplied, paying no attention as he pulled his hoodie off over his head so he could inspect his shoulder more closely.

"What?"

"Sam and Dean got into it in the parking lot of the motel earlier and Dean hit him."

"Did he hit you just the one time, or was it more than that?"

"Just the once," Sam mumbled. "I kinda deserved it…I said somethin' I shouldn't have."

"Are we gonna stand here much longer?" Braden interrupted before John could say anything, rubbing his shoulder absentmindedly before glancing back at their dad with mild curiosity. "I'm hungry, and we didn't have time to eat before Dean made us come here."

"We'll get something soon. Go get in the car, son," John said tiredly, and without another word, Braden turned and headed to the Impala. "Your jaw aside, Sam, what about the rest of you?" Dad went on to ask, turning back to them "Is anybody else hurt?"

"Um…I think we're good," Sam replied, glancing at each of them in turn.

"Sam got pushed down the stairs," Aubrey informed Dad, ignoring the dirty look that Sam gave her. With three brothers all as equally closemouthed about injuries, Aubrey figured it was her duty as their little sister to tattle on occasion. As it so happened, 'on occasion' translated to 'as often as possible,' a fact that Aubrey relished.

"That true, Samuel?" John asked, quirking his eyebrow at Sam questioningly.

"Just the last few steps—it's not a big deal."

"You're not lying to me, are you, boy?"

"No sir. I feel bruised as hell and I'm rockin' a headache, but nothing some Tylenol or Aleve can't handle," Sam told him. "Aubrey got slammed by some flying stuff in the house," he told John, obviously unable to resist retaliating by tattling on her. She stuck her tongue out at him, well aware that it was a tad childish, but largely not caring. She yanked her tongue back in right as Dad turned to her.

"Aubrey?"

"Well," she said, looking herself up and down for the first time since they'd gotten out of the house. A slight twinge of pain in her side, but she didn't think it was bad. _Doubt it's a cracked rib…yeah, probably just bruised. Worth mentioning? Hmm…only if it starts hurting worse._ "No blood, so I think I'm good."

"Jessica, what about you?" he asked, looking past Sam to where Jessica stood. "Are you hurt?"

"Oh, I'm alright. Maybe a few bruises, but it's no big deal—I don't even need ice."

"Do we need to make a pharmacy run?" he asked, giving Sam his best 'Dad-look,' the one that said 'don't even think about lying to me,' which was probably wise of him, Aubrey decided. She couldn't really blame him for doubting their sincerity, not after bearing witness to all of the evasions and outright fibbing.

_He's got no reason to suspect _Jessica_ of lying, but the rest of us…yeah, we've all hidden or lied about injuries at one time or another. Granted, I usually suck at it, so it's not like it works or anything. _

"Nah," Sam supplied with a shake of his head. "First aid kit's got what we need, I think—we haven't had to use it in awhile, so it's pretty well stocked."

" Alright, then. Let's get out of here," John told them, already moving towards the street where his truck was parked.

"Daddy?" Aubrey asked, slipping her arm through his and walking with him. "Are we really gonna come back and help Mama Mary like you told Dean?"

"Of course we are," he told her gruffly. "But…I've just…I need to figure out some things first," he said, and Aubrey wished there was something she could say. Because anyone could see that John was hurting just as much as Dean was.

But she didn't have a clue what to say. After all, there was really nothing she _could_ say.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she whispered, leaning into his side and hugging his waist. He dropped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close, the smell of his aftershave and his coat wrapping around her comfortingly. "Can I ride in the truck with you and Dean?"

"I don't know if your brother's gonna be any kind of company right now, Aubrey."

"I know, but…he's hurting, Daddy. I won't bother him, or try to make him talk, I promise."

"Yeah, alright," he told her with a sigh, and with a slight smile, she hurried to the truck, hauling open her father's door and climbing in.

She slid in next to Dean and pulled the lap belt around her before scooting closer to her brother, who was staring out the window at the street, pointedly ignoring her. She could feel him tense as their father climbed into the truck after her, but he didn't speak—a bad sign, Aubrey knew.

"We'll get Missouri and come back tomorrow," John said into the painful silence, obviously hoping to garner a response. "Maybe she can tell us what the hell is going on in there."

_Epic fail_, Aubrey thought, biting her lip to hold back a sigh when Dean remained steadfastly silent. Their dad gave up after that, realizing no doubt that further attempts would be met with more of the same from his oldest son.

By the time they pulled to a stop at the motel, Dean was practically vibrating with rage, and Aubrey knew that things were going to get a heck of a lot worse before they got better. If they got better.

And as Dean slammed the door of the truck behind him and left them sitting there without a backwards glance, Aubrey couldn't help but think that maybe things were _already_ worse.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to all of you who have stuck with me despite the long-as-crap waiting! If I missed anyone in my review replies, I'm sorry, and please let me know so I can PM you back! You guys are awesome!

**ohgravitysonfire**: Thanks for reviewing! Yeah, I tend to have Jessica play the peacemaker between everyone. I think it sort of gives her that vibe that reminds everyone of Mary. Glad you liked the sports metaphors!

**YohKo Bennington**: Sorry you had a lot of STFU reactions to Sam in the last chapter. Hopefully, you didn't have as many in this chapter. Glad you liked Dean's 'angst-bitchy-angriness' in the last chapter…and there's definitely more to come in the next chapter, which is Dean's POV and full of angst and pissed-off-ness. Thanks for reviewing!

**ShortLILPunk**: Hey, remember me? waves I've been gone for ages, and I've missed all of the fun fanfic reviews! So glad you liked the last chapter. I felt so good when you mentioned watching episodes and having moments where you wondered where the twins were. Made me smile. Glad you liked hurt!Dean in the last chapter—you're absolutely gonna LOVE the next chapter, I think, even though it's more of an emotional hurt than a physical…unless I can fit the latter in as well. I totally agree with you about the guys being comforted by Jessica's presence—Jessica has some 'mom-moments' with the boys, and I think they respond to that on a psychological level. So yeah, I'm sorry I didn't get that quick update out for you—I know you've been waiting forever! Thanks for your fabulous review! Hope to hear from you about this one!

**eggylaine**: Glad you liked Jessica in the last chapter—it's been surprisingly easy to mesh her into the story. She gives off a mom-vibe in certain scenes, and I think the guys really respond to it, even though they didn't grow up with a mom-figure. Hope this chapter satisfied your curiosity about what was going to happen in the house. Thanks for reviewing for me!

**Beccatdemon13**: So you read the last chapter in class? Really? LOL! That is so funny! Hopefully, you'll be as excited to see the chapter update email for this one as you did for the last one! Thanks for reviewing! Remember not to finish reading a chapter in class (you told me to remind you!)

**RodneyIsGodney**: I'll see what I can do about having more counting Hondas (or something similar), though I'm not sure if I can for the next chapter. Chapter 43 is kind of intense—too angsty for counting…but who knows? I might can tie it in, just for you! Anyways, thanks for sending me a review!

**zuimar**: You didn't get a _lot_ of hurt!Dean in this chapter, but you'll definitely get some major angsty Dean in the next. Chapter 43 is a Dean chapter, so I'm thinking you'll really like it. Hopefully, you still enjoyed this one, even if it wasn't a major hurt!Dean chapter. Thanks for reviewing!

**Nyx Ro**: I'm slowly trying to soften John a little bit, since we had our discussion about his interaction with his offspring. I can't promise that everything will be great between him and his children, but I'm at least gonna have him making an attempt. Which isn't to say that he won't also revert, but Rome wasn't built in a day, and John Winchester can't change overnight! LOL! Anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter!

**anonymous**: I hope you know who you are, anonymous, because I really hope you get this! I wanted to thank you for giving my fic a shot—extra sibling fics aren't really everyone's thing, so I totally understand when people choose to pass over it. I'm always so excited to hear when someone who doesn't go for extra sibling fics says they like my story! Thanks so much for letting me know what you think! Major Dean angst ahead, so I hope you'll stick with me (and maybe drop me a penname so I know who I'm responding to next time-LOL)!


	43. A Haunting Well of Anger and Grief

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: I'd like to thank all of you who inquired/messaged about my puppy after he was hit by a car. Unfortunately, Fixer didn't make it, and I was pretty upset about the whole thing. But my godfather bought me a new puppy as an early Christmas present, and he's very cute. His name is Deuce, and I love him dearly already. And this is where I thank my boyfriend for driving six hours to Georgia to pick him up from the breeder. So thanks, Allan! Love you!

Chapter 43: A Haunting Well of Anger and Grief

It took everything he had to keep from slamming the door of the motel room behind him. A hot, burning rage had taken up residence inside him, threatening to overcome him. It was an anger he'd long since grown accustomed to in the years that Sam had been gone. But if Dean was completely honest with himself, it was an anger he'd carried with him since he was four years old and he'd watched his entire world burn to ash right before his eyes. A deep-seated sense of anguish and loss had always accompanied his anger, and any one of those emotions was ever ready to explode at any given time.

Sure, he'd schooled himself on how to control them, learning from a very early age how to hide any trace of them behind either a cool mask of indifference, a misleading carefree smirk, or carefully yielded sarcasm. Most of the time, anyway.

Sometimes, there was no holding the emotions back, and like a tidal wave, they would crash into him without warning, consuming him, drowning him.

It was a completely wordless anger, an anger without thought or reason, just a deep well of raw fury that lacked sufficient words to describe it.

As he entered the motel room ahead of his sister and his father, he wasn't too sure he'd be able to hold it all back for much longer, not with Sam, Jessica, and Braden already waiting inside, not affording him a moment alone to regain his composure or resume his mask. He made a beeline for the bathroom, figuring if he could just have a few minutes, he might be able to keep his anger under wraps. He managed to make it, but Sam was already calling his name before he even got the door shut.

_Don't. Just…please. Don't, Sammy,_ Dean thought with more than a trace of desperation, leaning heavily against the door as though that was all it would take to keep Sam from barging in after him. His fingers fumbled with the lock on the door as he scrambled to shut his brother out—for all the fucking good it would do him. Because if Sam wanted to get in, Dean knew damn good and well that the piece-of-shit lock on the bathroom door wouldn't keep him out.

But when there was no tell-tale rattle of a doorknob to herald Sam's utilization of a lock-pick, Dean finally shifted, stumbling towards the sink, grasping the edges with a white-knuckled grip. He turned the water on in the sink and splashed his face, trying to push any and all thought away, anything so that he didn't have to think about his mother, his old house, stupid, fucking Lawrence. Or the crushing guilt that was pressing down on him, all because he'd left her behind.

As water dripped down his face, he glanced in the mirror, staring back into the haunted eyes that met his gaze.

_You left her there, _his reflection seemed to say, the words registering with a painful intensity that he'd been trying his hardest to ignore. He felt helpless and angry, and he could already feel his throat closing up, the silence that had been as much his companion as the anger falling over him, heavy and inescapable.

_You're fucking pathetic. Left your own mother behind because for once in your damn life—when it really matters—you couldn't grow a pair and stand up to your old man. You're a fucking coward, Daddy's little soldier like Sam said. You _should_ feel bad, you miserable bastard._

With a silent roar of outrage, Dean rammed his fist into the mirror, his reflection shattering in a sea of broken glass. Despite the distant acknowledgement of pain in his hand, it felt good watching the face in the mirror break, and he wished there was something else he could smash, something else that could lessen the weight of all the emotions pressing down on him, suffocating him.

Dean couldn't say when Sam came in, but he was suddenly just there, reaching for Dean as he carefully stepped over the glass. He grabbed Dean by the shoulder and turned him around, hurriedly but gently, no doubt trying to examine the damage Dean had done to his hand.

Damage that Dean didn't want him to see.

Dean shrugged him off and jerked away, angry at the way Sam had shoved his way into the already cramped bathroom, crowding him and making it all the harder for him to hide his rage and his grief.

"C'mon, man, not this again," he said, reaching for Dean's hand again with a pitying look that only served to fuel Dean's anger. He tried to knock him away again, but Sam wasn't to be deterred, the younger brother using his weight to pin Dean against the sink so he could get a look at the injured hand. Not to be outdone by his little brother, Dean shoved him, knocking him back enough to get past, intent on just getting away.

"Dean, wait!"

But he didn't want to wait. All he wanted was to be somewhere else, somewhere where he didn't have to think or feel, where he could have a minute, an hour, two, to get his mask back into place. But then his father appeared, blocking the way out of the motel room, and Dean found himself backing away.

"…no…don't," Dean forced out, hating himself for the weakness he couldn't seem to beat, the silence that was beginning to choke him.

"Son…I know you're upset," John began, but Dean shook his head angrily, not wanting to hear the rest of his father's words.

_Upset? I think I'm a little past fucking _upset_, Dad!_

He wanted to yell. But nothing came out. And it only frustrated him all the more.

"Look, I'm gonna give Missouri a call, see if we can find out what's going on, and then we can do something about this," John told him calmly, but Dean just stared at him with wild eyes.

_We don't need her fucking help! We need to quit sitting on our asses and help Mom! What about that are you not getting here, Dad?"_

"We're gonna get your mom outta there, okay? I promise you," his father went on vehemently, obviously well aware that Dean was working himself up into a volatile state of mind.

_You left her!_ Dean thought, shaking his head again as the anger roared through him. _You left her and you made _me_ leave her, too!_

"Dean, just listen to me," John told him beseechingly, moving slowly toward him. But Dean backed up, his eyes flashing in warning, well aware of the risk he'd be taking if he let his father get too close.

'_You help everybody else we come across without ever questioning it! Why can't you help when it matters? Why can't you help Mom?' _he screamed. But only in his head. He couldn't even force out a "no," so suffocated by his emotions and too angry and hurt to fight it.

As his father took another step towards him, Dean found himself moving into a defensive posture, his hands coming up in front of him and his eyes searching for an escape route. Unfortunately, he backed into Sam, who apparently thought it would be a good idea to grab hold of Dean to still him. It was a mistake. Dean jerked away, knocking Sam's hands away, and only Sam's quick reaction let him avoid a blow to the face. Sidestepping his younger brother, Dean eyed his father, calculating how best to evade the older man.

"D—" Aubrey began, but John cut her off.

"Don't, Aubrey—he's not thinking straight," Dean heard his dad murmur, and it only served to piss him off more, that his dad was talking about him like he wasn't standing there, like he was a fuck-up that couldn't control himself.

'_Why don't you ever fucking trust me, Dad? Why won't you let me do this? Why won't you let me do what I need to do? I can do this if you'd just get the hell outta my way!'_ Dean yelled, wishing he could force the words out, that his father could hear the thoughts clamoring inside his head, screaming for release.

"But, Daddy, I can help—"

"No, he's on edge," John told her in reply.

'_And why the hell shouldn't I be?' _he wanted to ask. '_She was right there—I know she was! Mom was right there, and you made me leave her behind in that damn house, that house where everything fell apart!'_

He must have made some sound then, because his father abruptly turned his attention back to Dean.

"Dean," he said softly, "I know you wanted to go back in, son, but it's not safe. Not until we have a better idea of what we're dealing with. This is why I wanted you to stay put at Bobby's—I wanted more intel before we came here—_all_ of us. Together. I didn't want you dealing with this on your own."

'_I shouldn't fucking have to! But you wanted to fucking wait so you could go after a demon we don't have a chance in hell of beating, while Mom's trapped in our old house, suffering! Well, fuck you, Dad! I don't need you!'_

Without conscious thought, Dean lashed out, sweeping his arm across the cheap dresser beside him, slinging all of the toiletries and shit that his siblings and Jess had had the misfortune of leaving there across the room.

"Well, shit," Dean heard Braden murmur with a mildly annoyed sigh, already shifting from the bed to a chair across the room, moving himself out of the line of fire.

"Son, you need to calm down," John told him, a hint of steel entering his voice when he realized that the soft-spoken approach wasn't working. No, when the shit started hitting the fan, John Winchester quit playing.

Unfortunately, Dean had quit playing fifteen hours, four betrayals, and a shitload of painful revelations ago.

'_No, what I _need_ is to go after Mom, damn it! Why can't you see that?'_

He whirled, grabbing the lamp conveniently placed within reach and hurling it at the wall, not even noticing the way his injured hand throbbed with pain.

"Shit—Jessica, take the twins and go for some chow," John ordered, tossing her his keys as he continued. "Stick to drive-thrus," he said firmly, and not one of them argued as they skirted around Dean, who stood in the middle of the room, his fingers twitching with the need to throw something else, to watch something else shatter the way his insides felt shattered.

"Alright now, Dean, that's enough," John told him lowly as soon as the door closed behind them. But Dean was way past listening to his father. The brief moment of respite as Jessica and the twins had left was just that—brief—and Dean was already working back up to a hot rage.

_You left you left you left…_

The words played in his mind on endless repeat, competing with images of his mother, both as she was before that horrible night, and as he last saw her, burning on the ceiling of Sam's nursery, all of it ripping into him with the ferocity of a black dog—brutishly painful and completely without mercy.

He just wanted it all to stop, wanted to scream out all of the emotions boiling up inside him, burning him from the inside out.

But since that was pretty damn unlikely, he'd settle for slinging some more shit at the walls, the sound of breaking glass almost making up for his inability to verbalize the way he felt.

As if sensing what Dean was about to do, John lunged for him then, but Dean dodged, darting around both his father and Sam in an attempt to put his back to a wall—anything to keep one of them from getting behind him. Unfortunately, his father was damn fast, moving with him and staying between Dean and the door the whole time. Dean stilled, slowly backing away from his father, but Sam moved then, coming up behind Dean and forcing him to spin in order to face the closest threat. And that's when John made his move, rushing Dean from behind and wrapping his arms around him, pinning Dean's arms to his sides.

'_NO, DON'T!'_ Dean screams silently, trying to pull away with an effort bordering on desperation. But his father's grip is unyielding, relentless.

"Dean, calm down—this isn't helping, son," John told him, his voice revealing the strain he was under to hold Dean still.

_No, sitting here on our asses isn't helping,_ Dean wanted to argue as he struggled to break his father's hold. Everything was all wrong, all of it. The rules were changing and nothing made sense anymore.

' _Why won't you help me, Dad? Why are you taking Sam's side, holdin' me here? You're supposed to side with _me_, not Sam! _I_ stayed, Dad! Sam left, and I fucking stayed!'_

"Dad, do you need my help?" Sam asked hesitantly, eyeing John as he fought to hold Dean.

'_Don't you fucking help him, Sam! Don't you do it!'_

"No, I got him—just hang back for now," John grunted, shifting his hold slightly, his grip tightening.

Dean doubled his efforts to get free, feeling a slight sense of satisfaction when he heard his father grunt with the effort of hanging on to him.

"On second thought," John said, "I might need your help after all."

"Dean, c'mon," Sam urged him earnestly as he stepped forward to help.

'_You're supposed to back me up, but you turned your back on me like you always do!'_

He lashed out with one leg, managing to clip Sam hard enough to knock him back a few steps, and that's when John's arms tightened once more, locking him into a grip constricting enough to leave him suddenly fighting for air.

_No, dammit!_ he thought, knowing with a growing sense of desperation that his father was willing to cut off his air now, at least long enough to force him to back down.

It was all too much, the emotions swirling inside him like a maelstrom that couldn't be contained, and it hurt with a physical-ness that Dean couldn't even begin to process, let alone deal with. It wasn't even just one thing he was mad about anymore—it was everything.

An almost inhuman scream was ripped from him as he threw everything he had into one last-ditch effort to free himself.

"Damn it, Sam! Help me with him!" John yelled. Sam threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around Dean and John both, as though he was hugging them both. And in a sense, he was. He dropped his head , burying his face in the space between Dean's neck and shoulder, like he'd done when he was little and scared and wanting his big brother to make it better.

"It's okay, Dean," he murmured. "We'll fix it, okay? But please—you gotta stop this. Please, Dean," he whispered, and even though Dean was just as mad at his brother as he was at everything else, it was as though Sam had flipped some sort of invisible switch. He felt the anger and the grief, and the pain cut off, settling once more at the back of his mind as exhaustion swept over him.

As if sensing the change in him, Sam lifted his head, trying to look Dean in the eye. Dean felt his muscles go lax as he slumped back against his father, his head drooping forward to fall against his brother's chest with a world-weary sigh.

"We won't leave Mom, Dean—I swear. You've just gotta give us some time to figure things out," Sam told him softly.

Dean couldn't reply, even if he'd wanted to, too drained to even formulate a response. It was as though the anger had been the only thing sustaining him, and now with it subdued, he had nothing left to keep him going. He felt his father's arms loosen from their restrictive hold as he pressed his cheek against Dean's head in a particular show of affection that Dean hadn't been privy to since he'd been a helluva lot younger.

"Your brother and I are gonna take care of this son. You'll see. You okay, now?"

Dean didn't respond, slowly stepping away from the two of them. He dropped onto one of the beds, curling up on his side, his mind blissfully empty.

"Sam," John began in a low voice, "call Missouri and fill her in on what's happening. Get her out here to help us."

"Yessir."

"And Sam?"

"Sir?"

"Beg if you have to."

"Yessir."

Dean felt the bed sink beside him, and he vaguely registered his father sitting at his hip.

"Let me see that hand of yours, Dean," he said quietly, reaching for the hand Dean had used to smash the bathroom mirror. Dean didn't fight him, letting him gently examine the bleeding and bruised knuckles without flinching.

"Hell, Dean—you had to know that punching that mirror was gonna hurt your hand. Why'd you do this to yourself?"

_Because outside pain is better than inside pain, _Dean thought distantly, but even that was too much to think right then.

So he pushed the thought away and settled back into the almost catatonic state he'd been in a few moments before. It was safe there, safe from the anger and the pain, from his little brother's all-seeing gaze, and his father's orders and expectations.

No, it was better to just not feel anything. At least for a little while.

* * *

He didn't really remember falling asleep, or even waking up, but he slowly became aware that he'd lost time somewhere. His hand had been tended to, and he could feel the pull of butterfly strips at his hairline, where he'd been hit by flying debris in the house. His boots had been removed and a blanket draped over him, and he was stiff enough to know that he'd been laying in one position for a long time, not to mention that his clothes had that slept in feeling that Dean was all too familiar with from a lifetime of living on the move.

From the sounds coming from the TV, he could surmise that Jessica and the twins had returned, probably a long time ago. Judging from the sounds of a football game, he could surmise that it at the very least, it wasn't Friday afternoon anymore. Hell, from the sounds of things, it wasn't even Friday anymore. College football game meant it was either Saturday afternoon or Saturday night.

Shit.

_Mom's trapped, I'm stuck here under lock and key, and I've lost a whole fucking day, while the twins watch a damn football game and the rest of the family does who-knows-what._

He felt the first stirrings of his anger returning, but it was a distant sort of anger and he almost welcomed it because at least the anger masked all of the other emotions that he'd rather not have to deal with. But no, he'd rather feel nothing at all, he decided, shoving it all ruthlessly away to leave nothing but a cold calm in its wake.

"_Hey, man, you alright?"_

TK's voice came as something of a surprise as it echoed through his mind. Truth was, he'd almost forgotten the clairaudience shit. His anger had probably drowned it the same way it drowned everything else, he reasoned, but now it seemed that it was back, at least a little. TK sounded hesitant, and Dean supposed that if nothing else, he'd locked away the anger enough to allow TK a successful re-entry, even if the dude _was_ a little wary of his acceptance. Probably smart of him.

"_Dean? C'mon, man, talk to me. You okay?"_

'_No.'_

TK must have said something to Aubrey then, because even though he hadn't moved, Aubrey was suddenly there, crowding into his space.

"Dean? Hey, Dean, you awake?" she asked excitedly, her knee pressing into his stomach as she knelt on the bed and shook his shoulder. He glanced up at her with a pointed glare and she shuffled backwards a smidge with a good-natured huff, still looking at him expectantly.

"Aubrey, you didn't wake him, did you?" Dean heard his father ask, and Aubrey smiled down at Dean happily as she replied. He closed his eyes, then, hating her just a little bit for that happiness and not really wanting to look at it.

"How is he? Can you tell?" Dean heard his father go on to ask, but something in his voice gave Dean the impression that the older man wasn't talking to Aubrey.

"I'm sorry, John, but he's bottled up tight," was the reply, and Dean figured he must've lost more time than he'd thought if Missouri had arrived. Granted, it wasn't as though he particularly cared about her arrival. It wasn't like he was excited to see her or anything. Especially since his father seemed so certain they needed to wait for the old biddy before they could actually do something more than sit on their asses. To be honest, he downright resented her inclusion in what was _clearly_ family business.

But mostly, all of that registered with a vague sense of detachment, as though his explosion earlier had burned out most of his ability or willingness to react to his surroundings with anything beyond the minimum emotional response.

And really, who the hell cared?

"But is he okay?" John asked Missouri impatiently.

"He's quiet…too quiet. It's worrisome," she replied softly, and Dean wished that she'd quit with the whole pitying tone, because if he let it, he was sure it would piss him off.

"Can you do anything? Can you help?" John asked, leaving Dean wondering when the hell his father had come to rely on Missouri so damn much.

_You sure you can tie your damn shoes without calling her first, Dad?_

"I'm a psychic, John, not a therapist—he needs more than I can give him. And he's _your _son—until the boy _wants_ help, nothing you or I do is gonna change anything."

_I don't need fucking therapy. And I don't need your help. _

"So what the hell am I supposed to do then?"

_Why don't you ask Sam? He's usually thrown his two cents in by now. 'm sure he's got something to add. Like maybe I need to 'emote' or some shit._

"Well, as much as it goes against your nature, you're just gonna have to be patient," Missouri was telling John.

_Yeah, 'cause that's something we're all _so_ good at. Fuck it. _

'_TK? Where's Sam?'_

"_He and his girl went to get food for everybody. Should be back soon."_

'_Did Missouri…my mom…the house?' _Dean asked him, pissed that even his internal dialogue was fucked up.

_It must be pretty damn bad when you can't say more than two or three words to the disembodied voice inside your own head. Hell, that right there sounds crazy enough. But damn if it isn't fucking ridiculous that I can think to _myself_ in actual sentences but not think to _someone else_ in more than choppy phrases. That's nine kinds of fucked up._

"_She and your pops went to the house…but as far as anything about your moms, the answer is 'not much,' man."_

'_Nothing?'_

"_Missouri told your pops that she sensed a poltergeist."_

'_What about you?'_

"_Are you asking if _I _sensed a poltergeist?"_

'_Yeah.'_

"_I don't know what the hell it was that I sensed. That was some weird shit, man. Some fucked up shit."_

'_Not Mom, though.'_

"_I dunno, man,"_ TK said regretfully, his tone enough to tell Dean that TK wasn't all too sure about agreeing with him.

'_Fuck you!' _Dean told him, his inner voice bristling with a sudden hostility that had come roaring back strongly enough to have Missouri turning suddenly to look at him. Ignoring her speculative gaze, Dean threw off the blanket covering him and stood, brushing his sister aside and not looking at anyone as he reached for his duffel and headed for the bathroom.

* * *

A shower, a shave, twenty minutes, and three Metallica songs in his head later, Dean emerged from the bathroom with his anger under control again, crammed down beneath a thin layer of denial and stubbornness that he wasn't all too sure he could maintain for any length of time. Of course, at that point, Dean wasn't all that certain he really gave a damn anymore.

Sam and Jessica had returned with food, and Missouri had left, to get some shit from her house, Braden had informed him. Everyone was standing around the small motel room table, divvying up fries and doling out the orders to the proper recipients.

"Um…we got you a cheeseburger, no onions," Sam told him, holding out a wrapped burger with a hopeful expression. Without a word, Dean dropped his duffel on the floor, kicked it out of the path of the door and stepped forward, taking the proffered burger. Sitting down in one of the chairs, he steadfastly refused to meet anyone's eyes as he unwrapped the cheeseburger and began to eat. After four attempts to engage him in conversation, they finally took a hint and gave up on getting him to talk. Which was good, considering that even if Dean were so inclined to talk, his vocal cords were less than willing. Besides, it was too much effort, and Dean found that there was really nothing he wanted to say anyway. He'd said all he needed to say earlier and no one had listened or seemed to give a shit, so he had nothing more to say.

He made quick work of the cheeseburger, downing some fries before defiantly grabbing a Pepsi and heading back to the bed without once looking at his father. It hadn't escaped his notice that no beer had been purchased, and he couldn't help but wonder if his father had told Sam specifically not to buy any.

_Probably still thinks I'm a budding alcoholic or something. Even though I've hardly had anything to drink in the weeks since that night Braden went missing and Oliver killed some poor bastard. Dad's probably been watchin' me ever since, though. Like I'm not trustworthy or something. Yeah, Dad, I've only been raising your kids for the past twenty years,_ he thought darkly.

Of course, given Dean's current mood, a beer sounded pretty damn good. Or two or six, but who was counting?

Aubrey and Braden, who had already reclaimed their control of the TV in order to continue watching the football game, saw him coming and, without a word, simultaneously switched beds, hopping over so that they'd be beside him when he sat down.

"Wanna watch the game with us?" Aubrey asked. "It's not the Gamecocks, but it's not too bad," she told him, and coming from Aubrey that was high praise, as she was a die-hard South Carolina fan that usually didn't give other teams the time of day.

"Jayhawks are playin' the Cornhuskers," Braden added, his eyes on the screen as the Jayhawks took possession of the ball.

Dean shrugged in reply as he dropped onto the bed beside them. After all, it wasn't like he had anything better to do, not since his dad had him in virtual lockdown. He knew well enough that his father would be all over him if he so much as made a move toward the door. And Sam—_the traitor_—would no doubt back him up. The twins weren't exactly in a position to do anything helpful, either, he knew—being fourteen sort of limited their options. Jess, of course, was still new to the family, and her loyalty to Sam was only right, so Dean hadn't really expected her to side with anyone other than Sam. But Sam's unwillingness to help just rankled.

He wasn't even going to _think_ about his father, because he knew the walls he'd put up around his anger wouldn't hold if he did.

"Dean? You wanna help us with the research?" John asked, obviously referring to himself, Sam, and weirdly enough, Jessica.

_So you all are an 'us' now. That's nice,_ he thought caustically, wondering when things had gotten so ass-backwards that his father and Sam were on one side and he was on the outside looking in.

But Dean didn't need to research to know what mattered most: his mom was trapped and they weren't there. Instead, they were _here_, wasting time. And Dean wanted no part of it. They needed to quit with the damn research and go.

He shook his head and toed off his boots, pulling his feet up onto the bed to watch the damn game with Braden and Aubrey. As he settled back against the pillows stacked against the headboard, Aubrey slid over to nestle against him, her presence a comforting and familiar weight at his side. A moment later, Braden settled next to him on the other side, his shoulder brushing Dean's in what Dean knew was a show of solidarity.

"_Look, man," _TK said suddenly, _"I'm sorry, alright? 's just…I don't wanna tell you something if I don't know for sure what the hell I'm talking about. I don't wanna be talkin' outta my ass here, man. I can't tell you that it wasn't your moms in that house, 'cause I don't know. I know that's not what you wanna hear, but…I can't tell you any more than that."_

Dean said nothing, forcing himself to stare at the football game in front of him. After only a few minutes, he sneered at the screen, shaking his head.

_Dude, what the hell? Third and twenty, and you're fuckin' running the ball_. _Call a play-action pass and roll out to the strong side—hit #22 on the crossing route, dumbass._

"_Man, c'mon! This silent treatment shit ain't cool." _

Childish though it might be, Dean was an expert when it came to the silent treatment, and he employed it well. TK must've realized it, too, because he gave up soon after that, no doubt to try again later, Dean knew. As Dean lost himself in the game, Braden gave voice to some of the same internal dialogue that Dean was having with the TV, while Sam, their dad, and Jessica lost themselves in the drudgery of research. Missouri returned two minutes into the second quarter, and Dean made it a point to keep his mind free of anything but football as she sat down at the table to help his father, Sam, and Jessica. Lacking any type of space to work, Sam and Jessica soon moved to the other bed, taking a few books with them as they quietly settled next to each other to keep looking.

Eight shitty plays, two commercial breaks, and four gulps of Pepsi later, Aubrey broke the silence. "So, D…I was thinkin'…" Aubrey began, and her tone was all Dean needed to hear to know that she was up to something. He quirked his eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. "Well, actually me and _Bray_ were thinkin', our birthday is in a few days, and we were wonderin' if you'd take us to get the driving book so we can study to get our permits. We're pretty sure that if we get it now, we could take the test on our birthday."

Dean heard a few mumbled expletives from Sam and their Dad, and he echoed the sentiment. In all the bullshit that had been happening lately, it had apparently slipped everyone's mind that the twins' birthday was right around the corner.

Shit.

"So will you?" she asked when he didn't immediately respond.

Dean didn't even pause to think, simply nodding reaching for his boots, already bending to slip them on.

_Was a shitty game anyway. The head coach has his head up his ass._

Aubrey squealed happily and bounced off the bed, pulling Braden behind her as she hurried to fetch their tennis shoes from beside the door.

"Hold on," John said, his tone not exactly harsh but still enough to bring Aubrey's excitement to an abrupt halt. "Listen…I think it's gonna have to wait. We've got a situation here, never mind the demon that's probably still on our asses."

_Situation, huh? Is that what this is? A situation? Fucking understatement of the year._

"But Daddy, it'll be our birthday," she said softly. "We should've gotten the book weeks ago," she told him, her blue eyes staring back at their father as Dean looked on indifferently.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry but I promise I'll take you as soon as—"

"You forgot, didn't you?" Aubrey interrupted, her voice small and her eyes filling as she gazed back at their father sadly.

"Aww, Dad," Sam began, shaking his head even as a slightly panicked look came over John's face, a look that told him well enough that Aubrey had hit the nail on the head.

"I didn't forget, but—"

"It's not as important as other stuff," Aubrey finished for him, dropping back on the bed and swiping at her eyes furtively.

_Always gotta fix shit for you, Dad._

Dean stood, pointedly grabbing his jacket and keys as he shot a quick look of reproof at his father. He whistled through his teeth to get Aubrey's attention before jerking his head in the direction of the door. Aubrey looked back at John with a hopeful, pleading expression, as Braden looked on patiently, content to wait and see what the outcome would be.

"Dad, it can't hurt—it's a quick trip to the DMV and back," Sam interjected softly, obviously feeling bad enough about forgetting their birthday himself that he was gonna back them up.

"They won't be open much longer, since it's a Saturday," Jessica told John with a sweet smile, and with a heavy sigh, John conceded.

"Alright. But hurry back. We could use some more help with all of this," he told them, gesturing at the pile of research on the table.

Aubrey launched herself at their father, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tightly.

"Thank you, Daddy," she said sweetly, and even as emotionally withdrawn as he was, Dean could sense the guilt rolling off his dad. And at that moment, it was hard to say whether Aubrey's tears had been feigned or not. Aubrey was as moody as Sam and could be reduced to tears over any conceived infraction, real or otherwise, but she could also be devious as hell when she wanted to be, and Dean wouldn't put it past her to fake the tears in order to play their old man.

She was a shitty liar, but she could put on a show of tears pretty damn well when it suited her. Dean knew, because he'd watched her do it often over the years. Which wasn't to say he was immune to it or anything, because God knew he'd caved to the tears on more than one occasion.

Girl-tears trumped Sam's puppy-dog face any day.

Aubrey pulled away and practically ran to the door, waiting impatiently for Dean and Braden to catch up. Dean kept his mind perfectly blank as he followed Aubrey and Braden to the door.

"You know where to go, Dean?"

He shrugged, keeping his gaze averted as his dad gave him ridiculously detailed directions to the Douglas County DMV, which Dean thought was pretty damn easy to find, all things considered. It was only just down the street from the pizza place they'd gone to a few times—what was so fucking hard about that?

He nodded when his father finished and was ready to get the hell outta there when his father said his name in the tone that Dean recognized as the 'I'm about to say something important, so listen up' tone. Dean froze, his hand on the doorknob as Aubrey and Braden waited behind him with growing impatience. He slowly turned back around to face his father, struggling to make eye contact, the same old shit he'd been dealing with for a lifetime.

"Keep your eyes open, and come right back," his father told him. "We don't know where the demon is, and we're not prepared to take him out yet."

_No shit, Dad._

Feeling a little bit like one of those ugly-as-hell bobble-head dolls, Dean just nodded again, his eyes flat as he waited to see if that was all.

"You wanna take your brother with you, have an extra set of eyes?"

Dean cast a look at Sam, whose attention had returned to his book as soon as John had given in to the twins. Jessica's head was pillowed against his shoulder as she flipped through one book while Sam perused another, and they both looked comfortable.

And completely normal, which was fucking weird in itself, Dean decided.

He shook his head in response to his father's question and turned on his heel, following the twins out and shutting the door behind him.

"Well played, Aubby," Braden said as he slid into the front seat of the Impala.

"Thanks," Aubrey said somewhat smugly, which pretty much answered Dean's question about whether she'd played their dad or not. She piled into the backseat and shut the door as Dean started the engine. He didn't wait for her to buckle up before he was pulling out of the parking lot—he wasn't too willing to test Missouri's distance on the whole 'mind-reading' shit.

It wouldn't do for Missouri to ruin things if she caught a stray thought from him.

Because after all, he had plans…

* * *

A/N: So this really wasn't where I originally intended to end the chapter. But I was worried that if I kept going here, it would turn into a monstrously long chapter that would mean ya'll would have to wait even longer than you already have to get it. Besides, I ended up deciding that I can pick up where I left off with Braden's POV. I think it'll work well, but if it doesn't, I'll just keep on going with Dean's. Anyways, hope you all enjoyed it! Thanks for the reviews! If I've missed anyone in the review responses, please let me know! I try to get back to everyone who reviews, and I'd feel terrible if I missed anyone!

**Soccerchick6**: I'm so glad you found my fic! I'm definitely a Dean girl, but I tend to favor John's POV a lot, too, though I'm trying to keep switching around so that each character gets a chapter. Anyways, thanks for the review, and I hope you liked the chapter!

**anonymous**: Hope I've managed to keep your interest, even though I certainly make everyone wait for it. Not that I set out to intentionally make everyone wait—it just takes me that long to churn out a chapter. RL interferes, I'm afraid. I keep saying I'm going to do better, but I just can't seem to get them out any faster. Anyways, I hope you know who you are and will get this reply! Thanks for the review!

**MPPandHSMroxmysox**: You're not alone in the whole 'I really don't dig extra sibling fics,' so I'm always excited to hear that someone gave mine a shot. Thanks for letting me know! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

**ShortLILPunk**: Your review totally made me smile and giggle! Let's all hear it for the wondrously angsty Dean Winchester! As for the way he protected Aubrey in the house…the reason I didn't play up the "I feel safe and protected" vibe with her is because for Aubrey, it's just normal. She wouldn't find it unusual for him to do that, since he's done it since she became part of the family. I hope that makes sense…As for whether Sam and Dean saw Mary's form, the answer is no. I wanted to keep some mystery in it. Sam's statement to John that it was Mary was pure conjecture on his part. In regards to 'super-long reviews'—you don't have to worry about that. I LOVE super-long reviews! I really enjoy hearing people's reactions to things and what their favorite parts are, so never worry about a review being too long! Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing, Lil. It was good hearing from you!

**R2M**: Glad you loved it!

**eggylaine**: I love when I find another John fan. I really like him, but you're right that a lot of stories take the 'uncaring jerk-face' direction with John, which makes me sad. I like to think that he tries hard to do right by his children, even if he doesn't always succeed. I mean, he's human, and he's doing the best he can to stay afloat in a scary-as-crap world. Let's hear it for the John Winchester fans! Thanks for the review!

**CaiteWarren**: Okay, so I'm totally banking on the assumption that you've caught up on the remaining twenty chapters and will be reading this reply, because I didn't have any other way of contacting you. It's absolutely cool that you're a twin—I always wanted a twin brother—probably why so many of my fics have twins in them—but alas, I got an older sister instead. Oh well. Anyways, thanks for dropping me a line! I hope you're still out there enjoying the story!

**ohgravitysonfire**: In regard to your question about Dean hearing Mary's voice, Dean was still pretty shut off as far as hearing anything. I mean, while it's likely he heard the "_GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT_" bit, the situation was so intense and was happening so quickly that it probably didn't really register. Granted, he doesn't need convincing, as he's known from the start that it wasn't Mary—and he's pretty much on verbal lockdown after that, so he wasn't going to be telling anyone much of anything. That's how I'm playing it, anyway—LOL!

**zuimar**: If I was into doing polls all that much, I'd be interested in finding out which character (other than Dean and Sam) people like the most in my fic—I'd be hardpressed to say at this point, because I think I've won some people over as far as Aubrey goes, but a lot of people like Braden and Jess, too. Maybe one day, I'll get around to doing the poll…Anyways, thanks for the review—it was good to hear from you!

**saberivojo**: So the way I figure it, Braden sees Dean as something of a second father-figure—the same way that Sam and Aubrey do. Because of that, Braden knows to back off with Dean, whereas Sam is still just an older brother, an acceptable target for bratty or annoying little brother behavior. And Sam is such a good target, too…LOL! Anyways, thanks for the review!

**EnmityRose**: Hey, anonymous! Glad you remembered that you were the one who reviewed anonymously—if it'd been me, I'd have forgotten that I sent the review anonymously right after I sent it. If I'd even noticed in the first place. LOL! As for wishing you had the sort of relationship with your brother that Sam and Dean do…well, at least you have a brother—LOL! I have an older sister instead, and I just don't think it's the same. Anywys, thanks for reviewing!

**YohkoBennington**: So did you get the Dean-explosion you were hoping for? Maybe it doesn't quite qualify as World War III, but I think I did okay. What did you think? Oh, and if you're bad, then that must make me just as bad—LOL!

**7kstar**: Awww, your review was really nice—thanks for that. Hope Dean's explosion was worth the wait! Thanks for dropping me a line!

**angel871**: I'm glad to hear you're enjoying the story! Hope you'll stick around! Thanks for dropping me a line!

**ShinobuSaiga**: I found your review really interesting, as I didn't really consider Aubrey to be "a bit clearer on what's going on with her brothers than they are themselves at the moment." But you know, you're probably on to something there. Of course, sometimes, I think that's true of a lot of us—our loved ones can sometimes know us better than we realize, and notice things that we think we keep hidden. Funny how that works. Anyways, thanks for reviewing!

**Dave**: Glad you like my Sam—he's one of the hardest characters for me to write, so it's nice of you say so! Thanks for dropping me a line!

**Jake**: Hopefully, you've caught up on the rest of the story so you'll actually see this reply! I'm glad you like the characterization—I think it's probably more important than the plot in this fandom. Anyways, I hope you've liked the rest of the story so far! Thanks for the review!


	44. A Fool's Wager

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: I'm not going to apologize for the lateness again. I figure by now, you all are used to it and likely expect it, so it's not exactly surprising anymore. And I could tell you that it won't be as long a wait for the next chapter, but since I'm not psychic, I can't say that for sure. So in the interest of not lying to you, we'll just leave it at "I'll do my best." Thanks for sticking with me anyway—you guys are awesome!

Thanks to gcbravo for reading this for me!

Chapter 44: A Fool's Wager

"We're not going to the DMV, are we?" Aubrey asked dryly, the look of intense focus on Dean's face giving it away before his answer did. Not that she'd _really _expected them to go the DMV, but still…

Dean didn't speak in response to her question, though, merely shaking his head, and Aubrey sighed, slumping back against the seat.

_Yep, it's definitely as bad as I thought—he's going all silent and stoic on us again. Kinda hoped it was short-term, but yeah, that's looking like a no…I should do something about that, _she decided, absentmindedly biting her lip in thought.

"Well at least tell me we're not going back to your old house alone," she said, quirking an eyebrow as she stared at her oldest brother in the rearview mirror. She was really hoping it was at least going to be a pie-run if not the trip to the DMV, but when Dean failed to meet her eyes, she pretty much had the answer to her question. She glanced at Braden to see if he had anything to say about it, but her twin merely nodded thoughtfully, obviously content to go along with whatever insanity Dean had in mind.

_Definitely not good. D going silent is bad enough, but if he's got a stupid plan to go with it and Braden's supportive, it's even worse than I thought. _

_Crap._

"We shouldn't go back there without Daddy and Sam, D—we don't know what we're dealing with," she told him, wondering how far she should push the idea.

"Doesn't matter," Dean forced out, his jaw clenched tightly, and anyone could see how much he was struggling to say that much. "'s Mom."

_Gotta break him out of silent mode…push it,_ she decided.

"Well do you at least have a _plan_?" Aubrey asked, pitching her voice in the most provoking way she could, wanting to get a rise out of him as well as get information. _He'll have to tell us the plan, which has the extra benefit of makin' him talk: perfect!_

"No."

"Wait, what? That's totally insane! How can you not have a plan?" she yelped, her plan to get Dean talking forgotten for the moment as she reacted to the news with sheer dismay.

"Doesn't matter—you're stayin' in the car."

"Doesn't matter? Are you even hearing yourself? You're not going in there alone!"

"Yeah, I am."

"Not if _we_ have anything to say about it."

"You don't."

"That's what _you _think."

"You're _not_ going," he practically growled, his eyes tight.

"Watch me," Aubrey said stubbornly, ignoring the fact that she didn't really _want_ to go inside the house in favor of winning the argument. "You can't stop us."

"Wanna bet?" Dean asked, his voice low and threatening.

"Never bet against a sure thing, D—_you_ taught me that," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest in classic Winchester pose.

"Don't have energy for this shit," Dean muttered, and Braden turned around to shoot her an appreciative smirk before resuming his gaze out the window.

_Yeah, thanks for the help there, Bray_, she thought, rolling her eyes before pulling her phone out. _Time to call in the big guns,_ she decided as she started to scroll for Sam's number_._

"Don't you fuckin' dare," Dean growled, and Aubrey looked up guiltily.

"I was just gonna ask Sam to come help," she said innocently, but apparently Dean wasn't buying it. Of course, Aubrey never was very good at lying to her oldest brother, so it was hardly surprising.

"We don't need him," Dean was saying, and there was something in his voice that implied there was an anger there, one that Aubrey wasn't quite sure about. It certainly wasn't anything she wanted to broach at present.

_No, best leave that one alone…Avoidance Tactic #1: Keep going and pretend it's not an issue. Stay on target._

"Uh, we're going into your old house," she continued, "where something tried to throw you and Sam down the stairs _and_ tried to bean us with everything that wasn't nailed down, and you don't think we need help? Are you _mental_?"

"You're pissin' me off."

"You're just mad that I'm right," Aubrey pointed out, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Shut the hell up," Dean ground out, his voice tinged with exasperation. It wasn't nice, but at least he was still responsive, Aubrey decided.

"Okay, fine!" she snapped. She was quiet for what roughly amounted to five seconds before she smirked. "But we're still going with you."

_Never let it be said that Aubrey Winchester doesn't get the last word_, she thought with a satisfied grin.

"She's right, you know," Braden interjected suddenly, drawing Dean's attention away from her and what would likely have been a vicious comeback. "We at least need a plan before we go in."

"You're not goin' in!"

"Yeah we are," Braden said, calmly disregarding Dean's growl as he continued without so much as blinking. "So by my estimation, we have about…oh…five minutes to come up with a plan that isn't suicidal."

"'s not suicidal," Dean told him, glaring for good measure.

"How about nine kinds of _crazy_?" Aubrey added. "We need a plan that's not crazy, too."

"Knock yourself out," Dean said, his eyes glued to the road. "'s like Bray said—you've got five. 'm going in regardless."

_Well, at least he's acknowledging that we'll be going in with him. That's a start. A crappy start, but a start nonetheless._

"Well, since we're doing this, we should at least think it through, first."

"What's to think about?" Dean asked, his frustration evident.

"What the heck we're up against, for one," she pointed out, not bothering to temper her sarcasm. "Look, have you gotten anything from TK?"

"No," Dean mumbled, and Aubrey sighed.

"D, if you block him out because you're mad at him, then he can't help you. And besides, you'll probably end up burning your shields out, even with the charm Oliver made you, and then where will you be?"

"Fucked, like usual," Dean told her angrily. "Don't lecture me!" He paused for a minute before he shifted uncomfortably in the seat. "'sides, TK can't help anyway," he muttered.

"You don't know that," she argued, but before she could pursue that particular logic train—or more likely that particular argument locomotive—Dean cut her off.

"Don't you get it? Nobody can help, okay? _Your_ mom's safe—she's at peace! _My_ mom's been trapped in this hellhole of a town for twenty fucking years! And standing around with our thumbs up our asses asking useless questions isn't gonna help her! So either quit bitching at me and help or wait in the fucking car like I told you to!"

It was the most he'd said at one time for…well, awhile…and Aubrey should have been glad that he'd broken past the silence and the stilted speech that had been steadily overtaking him.

But mostly it just kinda hurt.

"You don't have to be a jerk about it," she told him softly. "'m just tryin' to help." Dean looked away, his jaw working as he struggled, though whether it was with his anger or his silence, Aubrey couldn't say for sure.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "I just…I can't…do this. Not now."

That was as close as he would get to apologizing, she knew, but Aubrey knew her oldest brother very well, and it was common knowledge that he'd sooner cut off his own arm than intentionally hurt her. He was hurting, too, and goodness knew that none of the Winchesters handled that sort of thing well. At least not without a crap-load of collateral damage.

"'kay," she told him, biting her lip as she considered what to do. Because what else could she do but do everything possible to help and hope for the best. _And pray really hard._

"If you two are about done with the drama-fest, we could still use a plan," Braden interrupted, not sounding at all concerned about the angst that was ensuing. And knowing Braden, he probably _wasn't_. "But I'm willing to settle for something at least _resembling_ a plan," Braden went on, and Aubrey couldn't help but smile.

"Well, first things first—we still need intel," Aubrey announced, scooting forward to lean against the back of the front seat.

"'m listenin'," Dean mumbled, casting a look back at her in the rearview mirror.

"How we gonna get it, Aubby?" Braden asked, voicing the question Aubrey could see mirrored in Dean's eyes.

"By playing to our strengths, _obviously_," she told them, rolling her eyes. "We just gotta listen to the voices, D—one of 'em's _gotta_ know somethin'."

"No fuckin' way. I'm keepin' 'em out. Long as I can."

"_He shouldn't, Aubrey," _Harold told her. _"We could help if he let us. But if he spends all of his energy blocking us out, then he's going to exhaust himself. You need to tell him."_

'_I tried that…he didn't wanna hear it.'_

"D—"

"Next plan, Aub."

_Dang it._

"Well…Bray, does Oliver have any ideas?" she asked hopefully.

"Yeah, one," Braden replied, staring at her plaintively. "Go back to the motel."

"Seriously? The guy's like, a hundred fifty years old, and that's the best he's got?"

"My dear girl," Oliver, obviously taking control to speak for himself, began, "Going up against an unknown entity in a town such as this one is not only absurd but downright foolish. This won't end well. You need to turn back."

"Not happening," Dean said coldly.

"C'mon, Oliver, please! Can't you come up with _something_?"

"I'm not a miracle-worker, girl. There is no 'magic plan' that I can give you to make this venture successful. And while Dean is obviously still hell-bent for leather to continue this reckless endeavor, the best thing _you_ can do is go back to your father."

"Some help you are," she mumbled.

"Time's up," Dean said, pulling up outside of the old Winchester house.

_Ah, crap._

'_You guys know anything helpful?'_ she asked the spirits that were able to stick close despite the charm. She was hoping that at least one of them might be able to offer some assistance, or at the very least some advice, but it wasn't guaranteed. She fingered the ring she wore on the chain around her neck, the one of her mother's that Oliver had charmed to protect her from being bombarded by the spirits.

_Maybe I should take it off…_

"_No, don't. There are too many of us here, Aubrey,"_ Harold told her, his voice coming in loud and clear. _It's this town. With this many of us, it would be too hard to make sense of anything. You should be able to hear a few of us if you concentrate enough, but you don't want to drop your shielding entirely. It would be a mistake. But listen, tell your brother what I said about shielding so hard. He needs to let Terrence help him. Otherwise, he risks getting his shields exhausted."_

'_Terrence?'_

"_TK. Just tell him, Aubrey. It's important, dear."_

She nodded as she climbed out of the car and followed her brothers to the trunk.

"D?" she asked as Dean pushed a sawed off shotgun into her hands.

"Be subtle until we're in," he told her, glancing around at the nearby houses warily. "And don't shoot me."

"Yeah," she said distractedly, shifting the shotgun so that it was mostly hidden by her leg. "Look, Harold—"

"Here, take this," Dean went on, shoving a small bag of shotgun rounds into her free hand, oblivious to her attempts to get his attention. Taking another shotgun for himself and letting Braden arm himself, Dean slammed the trunk closed and headed for the house.

"Dean, wait!" She caught up to him at the house, almost tripping on the stairs as he crouched down by the front door to pick the lock. "Harold told me to tell you that you shouldn't keep shielding so much. They can help you if you let 'em. But if you block 'em, you're gonna exhaust yourself."

"Not interested," he replied as the door lock clicked.

_Of course you're not. Stupid, stubborn older brothers._

"So what exactly _are_ we gonna do then?" Braden asked, bringing them back to the obvious question as Dean stood.

"Dad mentioned a poltergeist. Gotta get rid of it. Then save Mom."

"_I was hoping your father was wrong,_" Harold said quietly. _"We all were. Poltergeists are bad. They're stronger than us."_

'_Not really what I wanted to hear, Harold,' _Aubrey thought worriedly, biting her lip as she watched Dean push the door open.

"Okay well, Dad's never let us help on a poltergeist case before," Bray was saying, his arm blocking the door as he stared up at their older brother. "So how do we get rid of it?"

"Same way as a spirit."

"Yeah, but wouldn't we have to know who it was to find its remains? And do you really think we'll find the remains in the _house_? I mean, that's weird as hell. And creepy."

_Wait a minute…_

"Maybe," Aubrey interrupted, "instead of trying to get rid of the _poltergeist_, we should figure out what's holding _Mama Mary_ here. If it's an object or something, maybe we could just, you know, take it with us and leave the poltergeist for Daddy to handle later."

"What if it's not an object?" Braden countered, obviously playing devil's advocate like he usually did.

"Probably is, though," Dean said, his face taut with tension. "No remains …after the fire. So…unfinished business or object."

"Would your mom _have_ unfinished business?" Braden asked, his eyes narrowed speculatively.

"Her whole life's unfinished business," Dean replied tightly.

"I was kinda thinkin' something more specific," Braden told him, not seeming to notice how Dean's mood was shifting away from withdrawn and back towards pissed off. "Think, D—was there anything your mom would've stayed behind to finish?"

"How the _fuck_ would I know?" Dean asked hotly, and Aubrey sighed.

"Well, we _could_ ask Daddy," she suggested. "…you know, if we went back."

"'m not goin' back!"

"Yeah, I figured," she grumbled.

"So I guess we're searching the house, then," Braden said dryly, and even Aubrey found it hard to say if her twin meant it sarcastically or seriously. With Braden, it could be awfully hard to tell the difference.

"I'll take upstairs. You know what to do."

"Yep," Braden said, hefting the shotgun as he passed Dean and went inside.

"Aub, stick close to Bray."

"I will."

"And be careful."

"I'll try," she said, and steeling herself, Aubrey took a deep breath and followed Braden inside with Dean right behind her. He moved past her, heading for the stairs, and Aubrey watched him go with a worried expression, wondering if maybe she should text Sam after all.

"Aubby, c'mon—D told you to stick close."

"We don't even know what we're looking for—this is such a bad idea."

"What the hell, sis? This was _your_ idea."

"_My_ idea was to find what was holding Mama Mary here, but since D didn't have any kind of idea what that could be, I sort of thought maybe that meant we'd reconsider this whole thing. I mean, it could be _anything_!"

"Well what do you want me to do about it?" Braden asked, cocking an eyebrow at her questioningly, and Aubrey sighed.

"Nothing," she huffed, knowing as well as he did that there wasn't much any of them _could_ do.

'_Harold, you got any ideas? Can you tell if anything here in the house has someone or something attached to it?'_

"_That's a bit beyond me, dear. Perhaps one of the others, though…If you can do it without removing the charm, you might try opening yourself up, just a bit, and ask one of them."_

It was risky, she knew, because if nothing else, she'd learned pretty quickly that Lawrence was a hotbed of spiritual activity, and she wasn't at all sure she wanted to open herself up to anything. Not after getting a taste of it when they'd first hit town. _But still…it might make things a little easier._

Like the majority of her family, Aubrey was a little short on patience, and possible risk trumped wandering aimlessly for who-knew-how-long while a poltergeist geared up for another attack.

_Fine. I'll do it. _

"Bray, hold up a minute—I wanna try somethin' right quick."

"Like what?"

"Like asking the voices if they can help. But with the charm on, it's harder, and I've gotta focus, so shut up for a sec," she replied absently, shoving the shotgun into his hands and closing her eyes as she focused on her shields. Slowly, she tried to pull them back a little, fighting for control as the amulet around her neck tried to counteract her efforts.

'_Is anyone there?' _she prompted, struggling against the headache that was threatening to make itself known as a result.

"_The basement."_

The words snapped through Aubrey's mind as though the spirit had been just waiting for a chance to pounce, and Aubrey bit her lip nervously, suddenly not so sure it was a great idea to open herself up.

_Especially in _this _house._

'_What's in the basement?' _she asked the newcomer tentatively.

"_The photos."_

'_Yours?' _Aubrey asked. _Maybe we're getting somewhere._

"_Ours—mine and John's. I'm saving them for my boys. It's all they have left."_

_Oh shit._

'_Um…are you…is your name Mary?'_

"_Yes." _

'_Mary Winchester?'_

"_Yes."_

"_Whoa…you're her—Dean and Sam's mom," _Aubrey whispered in her mind, and though she couldn't see Mary, she could sense the spirit's attention sharpening as though Mary had turned to look at her intently.

"_Do you know them? Do you know my boys?"_

'_Um…yeah,' _Aubrey replied, wondering how much she should say. _It probably isn't good to tell your dad's wife that you're his kid by another woman…even if she _is_ dead. _

_Awkward…_

"_Are they safe?" _Mary asked her frantically. _"Are my babies okay?"_

'_Yeah—Dean's upstairs, actually…he's looking for you.'_

"_That's Dean? But…he's so big, now,"_ Mary seemed to whisper, and it wasn't hard to discern the bittersweet regret in her voice.

'_Yeah, he's not four anymore,' _Aubrey told her gently, wishing she didn't have to tell her the news.

"_So he's grown, then?"_

'_Yeah, if you wanna call it that. Daddy says that Dean has a very dominant inner child sometimes.'_

"_And Sam? Where is he? He's not the boy beside you," _Mary said seriously, worry in her tone, even as she seemed to pull away, as though she was looking through the house for the son who wasn't there.

'_He's not here—but he's not far. He's at the motel with his girlfriend and Daddy.'_

"_Daddy?"_

_Oops._

'_Oh…um…'_

"_Are you John's daughter?" _Mary asked softly, and Aubrey was hard-pressed to say if Mary was upset. She didn't answer, hoping that Mary wouldn't push the issue but desperately trying to figure out an answer in case she did.

"_What's your name?"_

'_Aubrey.'_

"_Your full name."_

And at that moment, Aubrey knew that Mary wasn't going to let it go.

_Dang it._

'_Winchester. Aubrey Winchester.'_

"_And the boy with you?"_

'_My twin brother Braden.'_

"_I see," _Mary said softly.

'_Daddy didn't love our mama, though, not really. Don't worry—he still loves you a lot,' _Aubrey told her, her heart clenching as she said the words. It hurt to acknowledge it, just like it always did, but Mary needed the truth.

"Aubrey, watch out!" Braden barked, and Aubrey snapped back to attention just in time to avoid a potted plant flying at her head. She hit the floor as the pot went sailing past her, slamming into the wall in a spray of ceramic shards that only barely missed hitting her.

"Guess the poltergeist finally clued in to our presence," Aubrey grumbled as Braden shook his head ruefully.

"You need to pull your shields back up before you get hurt…whoa, I sound like a captain on a Star Trek movie," he mused as he grabbed her hand to pull her back to her feet. "Seriously, though, tell the spirits to shut up so you can focus—you're gonna get hurt if you space like that."

"Well, it's not like they're _trying_ to get me hurt. 's just I have to focus on them to hear them good, and when I do that, I can't pay much attention to anything else."

"Prioritize, then," he reasoned. "What's more important—listening to a bunch of dead people talking in your head, or getting your ass outta here without broken bones?"

"Point taken," she conceded. "But look, we need to get to the basement," she told him, pulling him toward the kitchen where the door to the basement was located.

"Why?" he asked as she dragged him along, the two of them ducking under a few flying books.

"Because Mama Mary said that there're photos down there—if that's what she's attached to, we can get 'em, and then we can all get outta here."

A sudden bang echoed through the house, emanating from the upstairs, and Aubrey cast her eyes up worriedly.

"D? You okay?" she yelled upstairs.

"Keep looking! 'm fine!"

"_Aubrey, you need to get Dean and get out. All of you. It's not safe here."_

'_I'd love to, but D doesn't wanna leave without you.'_

"_Please, you have to convince him,"_ Mary pleaded, and Aubrey frowned, once again finding herself so caught up in the internal dialogue that she forgot to pay attention. She stumbled, falling to her hands and knees as Braden swore.

"Mary, we're never gonna reach the basement if you keep distracting my sister," Braden announced into thin air, speaking loudly as he pulled Aubrey up and pushed her once more toward the basement door. "You sure it's safe for us to go down these stairs? I mean, you're bein' clumsier than usual, and falling down basement stairs isn't exactly a picnic."

"You'd know," Aubrey grumbled, recalling the time Braden had done just that. They'd been twelve at the time, and an angry spirit had given Braden a nudge, ironically right at the moment when he was helping Aubrey after she'd tripped on a stair. The results hadn't been pretty. It had been only sheer and unusual good luck that had kept him from accidentally taking Aubrey with him when he fell.

"_Aubrey, the poltergeist! He's not going to let Dean keep searching upstairs—please! You have to do something!"_

'_He won't listen to me!'_ Aubrey argued. _'All he cares about is getting _you_…wait a minute…why don't _you_ talk to him? I mean, you're his mom—he'll listen to you!'_

Aubrey sensed Mary pull away, which, Aubrey supposed, meant that she was shifting her attention to Dean in an attempt to reach him.

_Hope she has more luck than _we_ did, 'cause he sure as crap didn't listen to us._

"What's happening?" Braden asked as he opened the basement door and peered down into the darkness below.

"Mama Mary's gonna try to talk to D, convince him to leave."

"So uh…why are we going into the basement then? Why not just wait at the door for her to talk Dean into leaving?"

"Because we still gotta get her out with us, Bray—we can't leave her here."

"Is it the photos that she's attached to, though? I mean, in theory, couldn't she just, I dunno, attach to Dean instead of a bunch of pictures?"

"I dunno—you're more of an expert than I am."

"_That might work, Aubrey,"_ Harold offered. _"Mary seems attached to her sons—the fact that they share a bloodline certainly helps as well. If she could connect with Dean, then, in theory, she _should_ be able to leave with him."_

"_I can't reach him," _Mary interrupted suddenly, her voice tight with frustration.

"_She's right—Dean's still blocking," _TK said, and Aubrey felt a rush of dizziness as she fought to stay focused with all of them suddenly using her as a conduit to converse with each other. Vaguely, she felt Braden grab her arm, steadying her even as she stumbled and fell to her knees once again.

"_Son of a bitch is keepin' us all out," _TK continued. "_It'd be fuckin' impressive if it wasn't such a pain in the ass."_

"_You can't get to him at _all_?"_

"_Fraid not, Mama Winchester."_

"_Why can't we reach him?" _Mary asked, and Aubrey had a feeling that if Mary had a corporeal form, she'd be wringing her hands. _Or pulling her hair out…D has that affect on people._

"Aubrey, c'mon, you can't just sit here like this—it's not safe," she heard Braden say, but it was taking all she had to keep track of the voices—what they were talking about was too important to miss.

"_He's using his anger as a shield, and it's actually pretty effective,_" Harold was explaining. _"And of course, the charm is doing its job, helping him suppress anything that was able to leak through the anger."_

"_So without the charm, I could reach him—is that what you're saying?" _

"_It's possible…but it's risky. If his shields falter at the loss of the charm, he could quickly get overwhelmed-this town is a hotbed of spiritual activity, and if his anger isn't strong enough, he's likely to be overcome."_

"_Could you help him, Terrence, if the charm was removed?" _Mary asked, and Aubrey suddenly had a bad feeling.

"Aubby, can you hear me?"

"Yeah," she whispered, closing her eyes as she struggled to hold it together. "Shh, I'm listenin'."

"_I think so…hard to say with the current sitch, but I'll do my best."_

"_I'll take care of the charm, then,"_ Mary said firmly, and Aubrey's eyes shot open, a gasp escaping her mouth.

"Oh no," she murmured.

"What?" Braden asked her, his eyes searching her face as Aubrey stared back at him with growing dismay.

"D's blockin' everybody out…Mama Mary's gonna take the charm away from him so she can talk to him—it's gonna be bad, Bray."

"Oh shit," Braden moaned, already pulling their cell phone out and shoving it into Aubrey's free hand. "I'm gonna go upstairs—you call Dad and get him here. If this is going south, we need him or Sam to help us get D out. We're not strong enough to get him down a flight of stairs and outside, not if we're fighting off the poltergeist, too."

Just then, a harsh, guttural scream pierced the air, and Aubrey knew then that they were too late.

"Dean!" Aubrey shouted, even as the noise in her head suddenly reached a fever pitch as the spirits she'd been listening to suddenly started shouting with alarm.

"Call Dad, Aubrey! Do it now and then get outside!" Braden yelled as he jumped over her and ran for the stairs, faltering only when a chair knocked into him.

"'m not leavin' without you!" she yelled after him, shifting dizzily in an attempt to stand so she could follow him.

Realizing the shotgun wasn't going to help her, she dropped it and let her fingers dial her father's number as she clumsily managed to get her feet under her. As she stumbled towards the stairs, she lifted the cell phone to her ear, trying to convince herself that their father would arrive in time to help, even as part of her was screaming at her that there was no way he was gonna make it.

_We are so screwed._

* * *

Reviewers, you're all awesome, and I adore you! Thanks for motivating me, even when I'm slow to update and keep you all waiting for way longer than I should.

**nativegirl32**: I wasn't much for sibling fics at first either, so I can appreciate you giving this a chance. Thanks for reading and dropping me a line!

**Justine**: Yeah, a movie of this would be really fun to watch. Who do you picture in the roles of Aubrey and Braden? I always like to ask people who they'd cast, because honestly, I don't have a clear picture of them myself. I'm flattered that you've read the fic so many times! Thanks for reviewing!

**x3eireclare93**: Awww, your review was so touching! I'm sorry about the long delay—I hope the short New Orleans fic in the verse made up for the long wait, at least a little. I have started on the next chapter, but between work and getting ready for my wedding, time is a little hard to come by. I'll do my best to speed up the posts, though! Thanks for sending me a lovely review!

**thedriverpicksthemusic**: Dean's my favorite, too, especially angry/angsty Dean, so yeah, he's typically at the center of things. As of right now, the next chapter is Dean's point of view, so you'll likely enjoy it. Well, at least I think you will! I hope this chapter satisfied your curiosity! Thanks for the review!

**Nethien**: It must be awesome to be able to read fics on your phone—I don't have that capability with my phone, which sucks, by the way. I read fics on my Kindle, but I have to move them into a PDF format before I can do that, which is a pain. I want a new cell phone…but I digress. I'm glad you enjoyed the fic enough to stay up until 4 AM reading it—that's so flattering! Thanks for dropping me a line!

**Our Eleventh Hour**: Winchester boys + females always has the potential to be entertaining. Honestly, I have a lot of fun with Aubrey being in the family. As for Jess, well…I always hated that she died and Sam didn't get his chance at happiness, so…yeah, I let her live. :D I like writing from different perspectives because it keeps me from getting bored or stuck. When I get stuck on a chapter, sometimes I can switch the point of view and get it worked out. That's partly what happened with this chapter: it was originally a Sam chapter, but it wasn't working at all—changed it to Aubrey and it came together much better. Anyways, thanks for the review!

**phenixvirgina**: Thanks for the line about my puppy. I miss him terribly…We got a new one named Deuce, but the new dog is much more rambunctious, so he's not quite the cuddle-dog that I was hoping for…maybe he'll grow out of it, though…Anyways, thanks for dropping me a line!

**BetahimeTsukiko**: You reviewed for Chapter 1, so I'm not sure if you've made it this far…I hope you were able to get to this one so that you actually see this reply…I'm glad you liked Chapter 1 at least…maybe the other chapters lived up to the "epic-ness" of Chapter 1! Thanks for the review!

**its not you its me**: Sorry I made you wait so long for a new chapter! Hopefully, you stuck around and didn't give up on it! Thanks for letting me know what you think!

**Marlowe97**: I have no plans to give up on the fic, so no worries. There are long delays simply because I've got a lot going on in RL, but I try my best to get chapters written. So did you like the characters _after_ the time jump? I'm assuming, of course, that you stuck with it…LOL! Looking forward to hearing from you!

**heather03nmg**: I really liked your review—it made me laugh! I'm glad you gave my fic a chance, especially since you don't read sibling fics. Rest assured, there will always be plenty of hurt!Dean to go around, because he's my favorite character! I'm sure there's something very psychologically screwed up about that…but oh well! Thanks for the review!

**TheWater'sChild**: I'm trying to remember if I PM'ed you at some point after this review…you mentioned wanting a fic about the Great Prank War of '98…I actually have one, but it's not posted here. If you want to PM me, I can give you the link. It's on my LJ account. I'm slow on updates, unfortunately, but I do my best. I don't like short chapters, so that's part of the delay—I want at _least_ ten pages. Granted, this isn't a particularly long chapter, but usually they get a bit longer and it takes time. Factor in RL and I just don't have a lot of time, I'm afraid. But I'll try to post faster! Thanks for the review, and the request!

**zuimar**: Hey, zu—it's been forever! It's hard to believe that my last update was in December! hangs head in shame I'm hoping that the New Orleans fic sort of makes up for the huge delay in updates…The New Orleans fic was one that had been in the works since last July, so I couldn't bring myself to put it off any longer. Then, RL interfered, so yeah…sorry! Thanks for the lovely review you sent—you said such nice things! I hope you're still reading, and I look forward to hearing what you think! Take care!

**ShortLILPunk**: As always, it's wonderful to get your reviews! Not only are they long but they make me smile, too! So question: since it's summertime now, has your fic-reading ritual changed from hot cocoa to something else? For the record, I don't really know that much about football…what I do have is a fiancé that does—lucky for me he likes my fanfic and he helps me out with the sports and car information. I do like football—don't get me wrong—but I just don't understand as much of it as I wish I did. Incidentally, I am a big Carolina Gamecocks fan—the twins get that from me. Anyways, I look forward to hearing from you soon! Thanks again for the long review!

**fifimom**: I'm glad you like TK—thanks for letting me know what you think!

**achillies-eel**: So what did you think? Did I surprise you with what happened here? From your last review, I got the impression that you thought Mary actually wasn't there at all…so yeah, surprise! LOL! I can't wait to hear what you think of everything! Thanks for reviewing!

**Yohko Bennington**: Okay, so as far as John letting Dean go, I figure he is assuming that Dean would obey in the end, because for the most part, Dean's pretty well known for his obedience to John's orders. In this case, his obedience to his father is at war with his inherent stubbornness…unfortunately, John didn't count on Dean's stubbornness winning out this time. Sam, of course, sees his older brother as the 'obedient, good soldier' still, so it likely didn't even occur to him that Dean would seriously disobey a direct order to stand down. Anyways, I hope that explains everything so that it's at least believable.

**Duce'sGirl**: Thanks!

**stoic81**: Hey, yeah, I missed you! Thanks for reviewing! You had such nice things to say in the last chapter. The thing about consistency in my characters…well, it's tricky, so I typically go back and reread older chapters frequently so that I can be sure to tie things back in. Some characters' traits are harder to keep in line, but I do my best. Thanks again for the review!

**ohgravitysonfire**: Yeah, you're right about canon-Dean liking the extra onions… my version of Dean not liking onions is a carryover from one of the chapters when Dean was seventeen and I mentioned it then. It was only much later after I'd written that chapter that I noticed that canon-Dean liked extra onions. It's also a fact that I don't like onions myself, so…LOL! Anyways, thanks for the review!

**eggylaine**: So by the side of Dean not previously seen, are you referring to a hostile, rebellious Dean? Or is it something else? Do tell, eggy! I'm glad you like the Dean that's showing himself these days, even if I'm not quite sure which Dean you're referring to! Thanks for the review, definitely, and I look forward to hearing what you think!

**Soccerchick6**: Welcome aboard, Soccerchick! I'm glad you're liking the fic—you've certainly got a lot of favorite characters! I'm a Dean-girl all the way, but I'm partial to Braden as well. I don't dislike Sam, of course, but I like Dean better! :P Anyways, thanks for the compliments, and I hope you'll let me know what you think of this chapter!


	45. The Winchester Approach

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Sorry for the three month long wait, everyone! I'm hoping the demands on my time will ease up a little after December. Let's all keep our fingers crossed and pray really hard! Thanks, gcbravo, for reading my fic for me! Love you!

Chapter 45: The Winchester Approach to Problem-Solving

So far, Dean had resisted the urge to start ripping up the floorboards in his parents' old room—so far. But it was quickly beginning to seem more and more like a viable option. He was avoiding Sam's nursery for obvious reasons, but he knew he probably wasn't going to be able to avoid it much longer. The odds of something of his mother's remaining in the house weren't exactly good, but if anything was to be found, it was a pretty safe bet that it would be in the last place she'd been alive.

_Fuck._

That room had haunted Dean for twenty years, the sight of his mother burning on the ceiling while his father watched helplessly burned into his memory as surely as the house itself had burned.

A headache gnawed at the edges of his consciousness, no doubt a result of holding off TK and whatever other spirits had been stupid enough to try getting through to him. But in the frame of mind that he was in lately, the headache was a small price to pay to keep them out. Pushing the pain aside, he dropped to the floor to look under the bed only to get slammed in the shoulder when the bedside table fell, or rather, was pushed.

"Son of a bitch!"

The dresser began to shake, too, and Dean had a sudden urge to unleash a couple of rounds into it.

_Won't help. Waste of ammo…_

It'd be satisfying as hell, though, he decided as the dresser shot across the floor, headed straight for him. With a barked curse, Dean threw himself over the bed, only barely managing to dodge it as it jolted to a stop at the edge of the bed.

_Fucking poltergeist. _

Suddenly, he found himself being shoved against the wall, pinned like a fucking butterfly to a piece of corrugated cardboard.

_Oh shit._

And that's when the amulet around his neck began to rise from the place where it dangled against his chest. The cord yanked taut against the back of his neck, straining, as though an invisible force was trying to rip it from his throat.

"No," he growled, fighting to move his hand, to grab the amulet, but whatever force was holding him was too strong.

_Don't snap, don't snap, don't—_

It snapped.

As the amulet flew across the room, a riotous cacophony of voices slammed into him with the force of a brick wall, and Dean couldn't hold back a scream as his shields caved against the onslaught.

"_Terrence! Help him! Why aren't you helping him?" _

He might have wondered about the familiarity of that voice, never mind the coherency, but there wasn't time before the tidal wave of broken sentences and senseless words hit him.

"_Died can't leave won't listen help kill you never see her I'm trying he's always Kansas City too many hear me and need to get didn't mean mine mine mine you latch on no one understands hell is the what do you find me stolen from us take it to old Dodge can't tell what never left behind you…"_

It was all too reminiscent of that first night, when Braden's spell had gone haywire and the voices had been an all consuming force that threatened to drown him. Through the blinding pain in his head, Dean was only vaguely aware of sliding to the floor, his legs no longer enough to support him in the absence of the unseen force that had previously held him.

"Dean!"

And then he felt his baby brother's hands on his shoulders, shaking Dean as though trying to wake him.

"D, c'mon, man—you with me?"

"Bray? I…Bray…'s too much."

"We gotta go—it's gettin' dodgy in here," Braden told him, ducking as a lamp flew towards him. It shattered against the wall a mere foot from Braden's head, and with a mildly annoyed look, Braden shook the small pieces of ceramic out of his hair. "See what I mean? C'mon," he said, trying to haul Dean to his feet.

Dean tried, he really did, but the pain spiked again and he found himself on his hands and knees, retching. It was so much worse than before, and Dean could only guess it was because he'd held them off for so long. Either that or the hell that was Lawrence, Kansas had fucked him over again…

"Ah, damn," Braden said with a sigh, gazing speculatively at the door as though gauging the distance.

"No…you can't…too heavy," Dean groaned, knowing well enough that Braden was contemplating trying to pull him.

"Well, unless you can drag your own ass outta here, I'm not seein' a third option," Braden told him, eyeing a dresser drawer that was beginning to shake ominously. Dean rolled over, trying to get his feet under him as Braden did his best to haul him upright. The voices screaming inside his head continued their barrage, and Dean found himself swaying as the world spun in sickening blurs of color around him.

He'd only managed to take a few steps before he was staggering into the wall, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact before he slid back to the floor. It was like there was a disconnect between his brain and his body, and though Dean was somewhat able to think despite the mental barrage, verbalizing was fucking hard, and moving with anything resembling purpose seemed out of the question.

"_It's too can't picture the dark is this here people are too late why she can't tell in the woods help us say nothing find it before him in the book listen to it's coming do something for crying most of the not what I thought can't seem to get edge is close don't wanna only way to help is Wanda shouldn't have come…"_

"Shit," Braden muttered. "Aubrey, I need you!" he yelled, his voice only adding to the shrieking in Dean's mind. "Can you get up here?"

"Yeah," she called back. "'m coming!"

Uneven pounding on the stairs followed by the unmistakable sound of Aubrey tripping over her own feet heralded her arrival in the door, right as the dresser drawer shook free of the frame and flew across the room at her.

In the end, it was Aubrey's klutziness that saved her, her foot clipping the door frame and sending her sprawling at just the right moment. The drawer that had been flying toward her head slammed into the door instead, shattering into several pieces.

"Dang," Aubrey whispered, staring in horrified awe at the remnants of the dresser drawer beside her before she clambered to her knees and crawled to them. "How bad is he?"

"Bad. We're gonna hafta get him out ourselves, Aubby—he's too effed up to even walk straight."

"_Dean?" _ A voice whispered through his mind, for a split second, cutting through the noise.

_It couldn't be…_

'_Mom?'_

He thought she might have answered, but her voice was suddenly gone, lost in the maelstrom that was once again bombarding him. With a scream of frustration, Dean slammed his fist into the floor with a vicious curse.

"_You should've don't know listen to us not what you can't lock you'll never just help me not fair why don't trust lying it's my fault son can you can't see me she told find the meadow place it here stop not supposed to scream green Ford truck…"_

The voices were relentless, as though the brief time he had locked them out was now coming back to bite him in the ass big time. _Prob'ly wasn't her…'course I'd imagine Mom._

"D? If me and Aubby help, d' you think you could make it outta here on your feet?"

He could hear Braden speaking, but it was as though Braden was a mile away, his voice barely audible over all the spirits in his head.

"Dean—c'mon, bro, stay with me, here. You gotta focus."

It took energy Dean didn't have to get words out, so he grunted in acknowledgment and focused on keeping his shit together.

"Damn," Braden muttered. "Aubby, d'you get Dad?"

"Yeah—they're on the way. He said to get outta the fuckin' house—_his_ words, not mine."

"Well, we're tryin', but we're kinda screwed here. We can't leave Dean here, and we can't carry him out, but we can't wait, either—this poltergeist shit's gotten outta hand."

"So what, you wanna just _drag_ him outta here instead of wait for Daddy and Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Are you _serious_?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Dang it, Bray—we can't! He's too heavy! "

"I could quote you a Johnny Cash song right about now, but I don't guess it'd be appreciated given the circumstances," Braden said thoughtfully, and if Dean hadn't been trying to maintain some aspect of his sanity, he'd have laughed at the reference. "But we can't sit here any longer, 'cause sitting here on our asses getting the hell beat out of us by this poltergeist isn't an option either. Dragging him out is the lesser of two evils."

"Not if we get hernias doing it."

"Now you're just exaggerating—don't be ridiculous."

"Who's being ridiculous? He outweighs me by over a hundred pounds!"

"Drama queen."

"Stop it, Bra—look out!"

As Dean squinted through eyes narrowed against pain, he watched a lamp cord whip around, the prongs on the plug catching Braden along the side of the face hard enough to open up a gash along his cheekbone.

Seeing the cord snake up toward Aubrey, Dean blindly reached for her, grabbing the sleeve of her jacket and yanking her forward, just managing to pull her away before the cord could wrap around her.

"Okay, we obviously don't have time to argue about it, so shut your pie-hole and help me," Braden said, swiping at the blood flowing down his cheek before reaching down for Dean.

"Bray, 'm not trying to be difficult—but do you really think dragging him is going to help? Getting dragged downstairs is gonna hurt him…

"Hey, if you can come up with something better, then I'm all ears," Braden said crossly, the injury to his face obviously enough to rile the normally implacable fourteen-year-old. "But it's obviously the lesser of a shit-load of evils, so grab an arm and let's get outta here."

"Well, maybe you and I can distract the poltergeist until Daddy and Sam get here," she offered, and Dean groaned, shaking his head only to regret it a second later.

"No," he slurred, fighting back the wave of nausea that accompanied the ill-advised shake of his head.

"That's a shitty plan, Aubby—we're not volunteering to let the poltergeist sling shit at us."

"We just need to buy him some time to help himself," Aubrey said, obviously ignoring him as she focused on Braden.

"That sounds good," Braden said reasonably. "But how the hell do you suggest we do that?" he continued, and Dean couldn't help but agree as he turned his head away so he could vomit again.

"He just needs a chance to focus and get his shields in place."

"Hasn't he been doing that?"

"No—he shut _everything_ out, which isn't good. Missouri said we hafta let _some_ stuff in. Otherwise, _this _happens. You can't block everything _all_ the time. That's the problem—he blocked too much for too long, and now his shields are on overload."

"_Fishing by the didn't say it was my only chance to second the truth it can't be why the hell isn't our house is spent the money didn't need to why won't you fucking help the last of couldn't stop him should've held on but the answer is can't…"_

He tried to shove away the voices and focus, but it was as though they knew what he was trying to do, and Dean could've sworn they intensified their efforts.

"Fuck," he bit out. "Cou' you…two…do this later?"

"Sorry, D," they said simultaneously.

"What do you want us to do?" Braden asked, for all his maturity sounding like a scared, uncertain little boy just then.

"Go," Dean told him, closing his eyes against the noise and the pain banging against his brain.

"We're not leaving you here," Braden retorted inflexibly, the stubborn tilt of his jaw more than enough to tell Dean that the younger boy wasn't about to budge. "Grab one of his arms, Aubby, and let's go."

"Wait! The amulet," Aubrey said, as Braden bent down to grab Dean's arm. "We need to take it with us!"

"Oh, shit, I forgot about it," Braden said, dropping Dean's arm to look around the room.

"You'll have to get it, Bray—I don't wanna touch it in case it blocks the spirits more."

"Why's that a bad thing?"

"Because right now, they're tryin' to help."

"Sure they are—that's why you almost fell out downstairs," Braden said dryly.

"Shut-up and find the stupid amulet," Aubrey retorted, obviously not appreciating the reminder.

"_Already gone pictures the string of Wesley took it's not going to betrayed by the find the last it's only fair but home is close why did this in March of wasn't supposed to see but please try to focus son and if you'd look under the run from the bridge can't see where…"_

"C'mon, D, where's the amulet? Try to focus," Braden said, lightly slapping Dean's face to get his attention.

Blinking glassy eyes at his youngest brother, Dean pointed in what he thought was the general direction that the amulet had been flung, trying not to move his head while he did it, anything to keep from throwing up again.

"Found it!" Braden announced, coming back over with the amulet hanging from his fingers. "Here, D."

"No, wait, Bray—don't put it on him!"

"Why not?"

_Yeah, why the hell not?_

"Because it'll do more harm than good now, I think," Aubrey said.

_And that was as clear as fucking mud. _

"_No stop two days until was dark an accident eighteen under the house on no one you could torn knives barely father all the screaming alive I though promised she wouldn't gun went off…"_

"But I thought the amulet—"

"Nah, but it probably didn't—"

"So he's gotta—"

"Yeah."

_Fucking twin-speak—what the hell?_

"How's his mom gonna—"

"Should be okay—"

"You think?"

"Yeah. But it doesn't really matter…"

"Yeah, we gotta go," Braden said resolutely, and if Dean wasn't in the middle of a massive migraine of epic proportions, he'd have been demanding to know what the hell they were talking about. But as it was, he was doing well to string words together.

"_No stop two days until was dark accident on I-29 no one can didn't listen when I you told him hear me baby please get him back make it right so that hurry for make you do it back fourteen years Elaine couldn't hear lied to me couldn't remember…"_

"Amulet, Bray," Dean forced out. "Need it."

"Just a little longer, okay," Aubrey told him, as they slowly began dragging Dean towards the bedroom door. "Can you hear her?"

"Who?"

"You mom, D—can't you hear her? She was tryin' so hard."

_It was really her?_

Thoughts of his mother coalesced, and he retreated inward, leaving the chaos of the room behind in an attempt to find her. Spurred on by the confirmation that he hadn't imagined her, he allowed himself to get swept up by the voices, knowing as he did it that it was both stupid and hardly likely to succeed, but he had to try.

"_Anyway not home daughter through not over killed Wednesday pay don't tell why understand name him but no window for people didn't see the last did it hidden away can you please baby try to never inside…"_

Strangely enough, while pulling back from everything didn't immediately lessen the pain and the sickening nausea, he could at least think a little bit, even if he couldn't exactly verbally respond. Distantly, he was aware of the twins making slow progress when, suddenly, Aubrey cried out, losing her hold on him as she suddenly went sprawling over the top of him with a loud "oof."

"Shit, you okay?" Braden asked her, and Aubrey muttered something in reply before reaching for Dean again. "Look, just keep an eye out for flying stuff. I'll get D."

'_Mom, where…'_

"_My only chance is he told me why can't you find Simon a lie that too deep to find without a see what you did the crosscurrent pulled as midnight evil but not the same as the only way you can don't you understand right here Dean and the ship went down and there was don't hesitate to so angry only way to listen to…"_

"DEAN! AUBREY, BRADEN—WHERE ARE YOU?"

"We're up here, Daddy!" Aubrey shouted, their father's voice still echoing through the house. "Hurry! D's down and we can't get him by ourselves!" Heavy footprints sounded on the stairs, multiple sets indicating that Sam was with their father.

'_Mom, please, you gotta be here,' _ he thought, trying his best to rifle through all of the voices beating at him, with hardly any luck.

"_Can't seem to hold will help us not letting go the overpass on it didn't do it what promise broken are they hurting him but you saw and never leave you baby land is tied to the and stop it from happening Terrence you have to help the way to dark and loud and couldn't you cursed me for my sins he can't slow down and too many the shields are under the wasn't an accident too strong to back up and…"_

"Anybody hurt?"

"Me and Bray are okay but D's not doin' so hot."

"Dean! Son, can you hear me?" John's familiar voice preceded his hands cradling Dean's face, and while normally he'd have been relieved to hear his old man's voice, his wasn't the voice Dean wanted to hear. He shifted his attention once more to trying to sort out the voices through the pain in his head, his entire focus on finding the one voice he _wanted_ to hear. "Somebody tell me what happened," John ordered, his tone leaving no room for bullshit.

"His shields are down, and it's crazy here," Aubrey replied, the fine edges of panic finally starting to enter her voice, their father's mere presence enough to have her relinquishing the tight rein she'd previously maintained on her fear. "'s bad enough for me, and I'm still kinda controlling my shields. D can't seem to get his back up, though."

'_Yeah, kinda figured that one out, thanks.'_

"What caused his shields to go down?"

"Mama Mary—she needed to get in so she could piggyback outta here. But she didn't mean for this to happen…TK was supposed to boost D's shields after the amulet came off."

'_Yeah, and he's doing such a great job, too,_ Dean thought, and if TK had a body, Dean would've beat the hell out of him for this shit.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam asked, and through the nauseating Technicolor blur that was swirling around him as he struggled to wade through all the voices, Dean could feel Sam's hand on his shoulder, his fingers twisting in the leather of Dean's coat.

"Well, we figured out that the photos in the basement are probably what's tying her here, but it wasn't looking like we'd make it down there—too much stuff's flyin' around, you know? So we came up with a new plan, but yeah, it's not working so great either…And I can't tell if Mama Mary latched on to D or not…" she rambled.

And as though the words set off the poltergeist, a cold, eerie sensation filled the room, and any hunter worth his salt could've told you that it was drawing all of the energy it could as it prepared to unleash absolute hell on them.

"Aubrey, Braden, go! We'll take care of Dean!"

Dean felt more than heard them leave, their presence at his side retreating as they no doubt ran for safety as ordered.

"Look out!" Sam shouted, and something smashed against the wall, a sound Dean vaguely recognized from experience as a lamp.

'_Where are you, Mom?'_

"Dean, c'mon, focus, son—look at me," he heard his father say, but even if he'd been so inclined to respond, Dean didn't think he was capable, not when he was trying to focus on sifting through the chaos in his head. "Shit, he's not even tracking."

'_Cause I'm a little fucking preoccupied right now! C'mon, shut up and let me think, dammit!'_

Dean felt his father's hands on his face, succeeded by a none-too-gentle smack.

"Snap out of it, Dean!"

'_Tryin' to find Mom, here. Seriously. Keep slappin' me, though, Dad—'m sure that'll help.'_

"_MINE MINE MINE!"_

The voice was quickly overtaking all of the others, the shrieking drowning out everything else and jacking up the pain in Dean's head to a mind-bending ten on the pain scale.

"In case you haven't noticed, the shit's kinda hitting the fan here, Dad! Let's just get him out of here!" Sam yelled as the chaos inside the room picked up, the unseen force slinging everything it could as they crouched on the floor, getting pelted by the small things and doing their best to dodge the larger things.

"Shit, alright, grab your brother—I'll be right behind you."

"Wait, what are _you_ gonna do?" Sam asked, as Dean felt the two of them haul him upright.

"Aubrey said the photos may be tying your mother here—I'm going for them."

"But she said Mom was gonna piggyback outta here using Dean! Trying to get the photos is suicide!"

"We don't know if their plan will even work, Sam, and we won't get another shot. Now take your brother outside!"

_Can't without Mom, Dad…_

"At least wait long enough for me to get him out and then I'll come with you!"

"We don't have time for this, dammit!" John shouted, crying out as something slammed into his back. "Do what I said, Samuel!"

"Fuck!" Sam shouted, but he didn't argue any more.

"_Getting too wasn't good enough you aren't what is the quick jump he said he wouldn't leave the biggest supposed to be special couldn't help it black hair and the car was couldn't in the light happened too fast can you Dean please try too many of us…"_

Amidst the conflagration of voices in his head, Dean was aware of his father and Sam shifting him upright before Sam bent down and tucked his shoulder into Dean's midsection. With their father steadying Dean's weight, Sam stood, allowing gravity to do the rest as Dean dropped limply over Sam's shoulder in a single-shoulder carry. Sam resettled Dean's weight just once before he headed for the door, sidestepping to avoid a piece of debris flying towards them that had long ago been rendered indistinguishable.

'_Mom? Where are you?"_

"I'll come ba—"

"No, just take care of your brother! I've got this! Now go!"

"Sammy…no…can't leave yet," Dean tried to say, but he didn't think Sam could hear him, and even desperation wasn't enough to force his limbs to move or his voice to get louder, and the dizziness and pain wasn't getting any better.

The trip downstairs and outside passed in a blur, and the only things he was aware of were the unceasing voices, the migraine from hell, and the sickening jolts of movement from hitting Sam's back as his brother ran hell bent for leather for the front door. They made it outside without incident, and it was as though the poltergeist had focused all of its attention on John—yeah, it knew which one of them was the biggest threat.

Dean managed to not throw up again until Sam lowered him back to the ground. Lurching to his hands and knees, he started heaving, his focus shot to hell and the pain in his head excruciating as the voices shrieked, demanding to be heard.

Not that there was much left to throw up at this point, but it was unpleasant nevertheless.

_Gotta focus…need to know if Mom made it out._

While he was trying to regain some modicum of focus, he heard the door of his father's truck slam shut as Jessica hurried to meet them. A second later, he felt her kneel down beside him as Sam stood.

"Listen, I'm going back in to help Dad. You two stay out here with Dean and Jess—see if you can help him."

"What happened?" Jessica asked, laying a comforting hand on Dean's back as Sam's footsteps receded and Dean tried his best to stop puking. "What's wrong with him?"

_What's it fucking look like? I'm having issues here. Obviously._

Dean liked Jessica, he really did, but c'mon...

"His shields are all whacked out—there's too many voices, and he's not strong enough to block 'em out," Aubrey explained, and if Dean had the energy to spare, he might have resented the implication. Even if she _was_ right.

"_Killed us but can't see the loft and it was late the driver so loud that it push them out there's no way to under the tree front yard only day but think too dark no one knows where's your father found the way toward the wasn't my fault do something damn shouldn't be this hate you all doing the best I look for me…"_

"Well is there anything we can do to help him?"

"He probably just needs some sleep," Aubrey suggested, though there was a decided lack of confidence in her answer.

"What's the best way to help him do that?" Braden was asking, a strange tone in his voice that began to stir alarm in Dean. Well, as much alarm as he was capable of, all things considered.

"How's he gonna be able to sleep, though? I mean, with all the noise in his head right now..." Jessica asked, and there was no mistaking the worry in her voice.

_Good fucking question._

"I dunno," Aubrey said softly, and Dean felt his heart shrink at the thought. "One of Bray's wards might help, but I don't think it'll be enough at this point."

"Well, we can't do anything about it right now, I guess. He obviously can't sleep here. We should just get him to the car...somehow," she added under her breath.

"I don't think we should do that," Braden said contemplatively. "He's still puking, and if he throws up in the car, he's gonna be pissed."

_Damn straight_, he thought, even as he spit one last time into the grass before burying his face in his arms and trying to be as still as possible.

"The movement's probably making things worse…" Aubrey said, and Dean wished he had the energy to spare to tell her, "No shit."

"Maybe he should lay down until your dad or Sam can get back out here to help."

A second later, hands were easing him onto his side in the grass, and Dean tried to think stable, unmoving thoughts.

"You said he just needed to sleep, right?" Braden asked suddenly.

"Yeah, I think," Aubrey told him.

"Oh. Well, in that case…sorry, D," Braden said, and Dean had just enough time to wonder what he was apologizing for before he glanced up to see the butt of Braden's shotgun barreling toward his temple.

The pain in his head spiked for a split second, and then the world went blissfully dark and silent.

* * *

zuimar: So yeah…not quite the quick update you were hoping for. But at least it was a Dean-centric chapter! One out of two wishes is better than nothing, I guess. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, even though you had to wait three months for it. As always, thanks so much for the review!

irishgirl9: I guess it depends on how you define getting out safely…what did you think of their escape? Thanks for dropping me a line!

zanita475: And here I am again…at last! I'm glad you liked the Mary and Aubrey interaction—I didn't expect it to get such a strong reaction, so it was really nice to hear what you thought of it. Thanks for reviewing!

achillies-eel: Yes, I is mean…but I don't do it on purpose! Will you forgive me? As always, your review made me laugh, and I especially enjoyed the bit about John killing his children now. Ah, life with Winchesters: never boring. So, does three months count as sooner?

Soccerchick6: So not as much fighting between Aubrey and Dean in this one, but at least it's Dean-centric—does that make up for the lack of fun Aubrey and Dean interaction? Thanks for reviewing!

Eggylaine: You know, I absolutely love Dean in all of his forms: angsty, rebellious, mischievous, pissed off…the list goes on. We'll probably be seeing a shift back towards angsty Dean in the next chapter, but he'll come around eventually. Anyways, thanks for sending me a review, especially after such long waits!

TheWater'sChild: So what did you think? How'd I do with Mary and Dean so far? Granted, not a lot of interaction at this point, but there are hints of it, yeah? You can look forward to more angsty Dean in the next chapter, though it will be from someone else's point-of-view. I'm thinking Sam at this point, but that's not set in stone yet. I'm probably going to have to play around with it to see which point-of-view will work best. Anyways, thanks for the lovely review!

Ohgravitysonfire: Thanks for the compliments—it was really nice hearing from you! I'm glad you liked the Mary angle for the last chapter. Hopefully, you liked this chapter, too—I'd love to hear what you thought of it! Thanks for the review!

YohKo Bennington: Yes, I'm alive…but then I disappeared for another three months…sorry about that. I've got a lot on my plate right now—work is demanding, and I'm editing a book for someone on top of trying to plan my wedding…it's been hard to squish in my fanfic writing time. Thanks for dropping me a line, though!


	46. Watch it all Burn

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Sorry that you all had to wait so long…again. October through November was spent finishing the preparations for my wedding. I got married in December, and I was finishing up the semester before we left for our honeymoon. January had me starting a new semester as well as finishing a paid editing gig. February was spent trading sickness back and forth with my husband. In March, we moved and spent the entire month trying to get furniture settled and things unpacked. So…yeah, RL is a bitch. Anyways, hope you all enjoy! Thanks for hanging in there!

Chapter 46: Watch it all Burn

Sam had only made it to the kitchen when the basement door was flung open and his father charged through, a battered, rusty box cradled in his arms as he hit the door running.

"Go!" he yelled, already grabbing Sam by the arm and jerking him around, propelling him toward the door back the way he'd come. Before Sam could process his father's order, something suddenly grabbed him around the ankles, jerking him backwards hard enough to send him sprawling, his chin smashing into the floor. His teeth clacked together and he bit through his lip, a coppery taste filling his mouth even as he scrambled to get to his feet. Before he could regain his footing, though, the unseen force dragged him backwards.

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit!_

"Sam!"

Sam fought the poltergeist's hold on him, trying to get some traction as he was pulled into the living room, his father getting thrown towards the back door. Away from Sam.

"Dad!"

The invisible hold disappeared as suddenly as it began, and for a second, Sam thought it was all over. But of course, the infamous Winchester luck reared its ugly head and Sam found himself flung against the wall.

"Shit!" he gasped, the breath knocked out of him. And then the lamp flew towards him, the cord suddenly wrapping around his throat.

"Sam!" his father yelled again, but Sam couldn't spare a breath to scream back as the cord tightened around his neck.

_Dad, help me!_

He could feel panic starting to engulf him as he fought against the ever-tightening noose. But it wasn't budging, and the darkness was beginning to encroach upon the edge of his vision. His fingers felt heavy, and his hold began to loosen.

Then, his father's fingers were on his, the older man adding his strength to Sam's own failing strength.

"Dad," he mouthed, clutching his father's shirt with fingers that didn't seem to want to work anymore.

"No, Sam—don't you give up on me! Don't you fucking die on me, son!"

_I'm sorry, Dad._

"Sam!"

The scream came from behind, familiar and shocking all at once, and a few moments later, the tight cord suddenly began to unravel.

"Breathe, son, c'mon!" John yelled, hauling Sam up against his chest. With a gasp, Sam sucked air in desperately as he clung to his father, listening vaguely to Jess sob from somewhere close by.

"Quick thinking, Jessie," John murmured as Sam relearned to breathe. Slowly, Sam turned his head, wincing at the pain in his throat, to see Jessica gazing back at him tearfully. She was kneeling beside them, an open container of salt held loosely in her hands and a hastily poured circle around them.

"Thanks," she whispered, looking around the room nervously. "What do we do now?" she asked, placing her hand on Sam's shoulder as he continued to wheeze for air.

"Get the hell out, that's what. Listen, I'll carry Sam—I'll need you to help me steady him, and then when I give you the go-ahead, you beat feet for the door, you hear me?"

"Yessir," she told him, shifting back so John could rise to his feet.

"Sam, I'm gonna have to throw you over my shoulder—you're too big for me to carry any other way, not without Dean."

"'m okay," Sam whispered, his strained vocal chords grating painfully in his throat.

"Can you walk?"

"Yessir." _Not much else, but walk, yes. Maybe. _

Things were still a bit fuzzy, as though his brain was still coming to the realization that oxygen was indeed available, and oh, yes, he needed more of it.

As though the poltergeist sensed their intentions to leave with no other offensive action, the malevolent presence retreated as quickly as it had come, leaving the room with a decidedly lighter feel.

"Is it gone?" Jessica whispered, gazing around with a mix of suspicion and worry.

"For the moment," John answered. "Let's haul ass—I don't wanna tempt fate. She's a bitch as it is."

Hauling Sam upright, John steadied him before reaching back and pulling Jessica forward.

"You go first."

"But—"

"No. Don't argue with me—we'll be right behind you. Now, go!"

With one last look at Sam, Jess ran for the door. Sam hardly had time to process that she was out when his father started moving, yanking Sam along.

Luckily, they made it out without incident, heading for the car only to spot Dean lying prone on the ground, unmoving while the twins knelt at his side.

"What the hell happened? He was at least awake when I left," John barked, lowering Sam to the ground as he crouched down next to Dean.

"I'm helping Dean reset," Braden answered, squinting up at their dad as blood trickled down his temple.

"What does that mean?"

Braden shrugged nonchalantly, reaching to tie his shoelace.

"It means what it means," he told John, not looking back up as he focused on the task at hand.

"We're hoping that Dean will be able to get his shields back up," Aubrey offered.

"What?"

"Well, unconscious, the spirits might back off long enough for—"

"That's not what I'm asking," John said angrily. "What happened to your brother?" he asked, obviously not in the mood for the twins' evasive non-answers.

"Oh…that…" Aubrey murmured, casting about for an answer to a question she was clearly trying to avoid.

"I hit him," Braden announced then, climbing to his feet and reaching down to pull Aubrey up without sparing as much as a glance at their father.

"Nice, Bray," Sam croaked, fighting the urge to shake his head. "Give him fucking brain damage," he coughed out, glaring back at his little brother.

"I didn't hit him that hard," Braden replied coolly, casting a look back at him that Sam correctly identified as his brother's silent way of calling him a dumb-ass.

"Before you cold-cocked your brother," John said to the younger boy, "did either of you think to just put the amulet back on him?" A long pause followed John's question, and Sam had to fight the urge to face-palm right there.

"Hmm," Braden said after a minute. "Yeah, that might have worked. Aubby had told me to wait until we were clear of the house, and then it was in my pocket…I forgot about it," he said with a shrug. "Sorry. I can do it now if you want," he offered.

"Just wait until we're back at the motel. Shit," John muttered, rubbing his hand over his eyes wearily. With a mumbled curse, he hefted Dean over his shoulder and carried him to the Impala. "Back's gonna hurt like a bitch for this later," he continued under his breath as he lowered Dean into the backseat, smoothing Dean's hair back from his forehead before quietly shutting the door. "Twins, you're with me—go get in the truck. Jessie, the keys are in Dean's jacket pocket. You're driving the Impala."

"Dad, you sure?" Sam croaked, wincing as his voice emerged, sounding like glass being dragged over gravel. "You know how Dean is…I can drive."

"Sam, you're unsteady—which do you think will upset your brother more?"

_Touché. _

"Well…maybe we should take the truck, let you drive the Impala."

"That'd be just fine, Sam, except your girl can't drive a stick-shift."

_Oh yeah…I knew that. Wait, how did Dad know that?_

"Look, just don't mention it to him—it'll be fine," John added, already turning his back and herding the twins to the truck.

"Get in, Sam," Jess told him, dangling over the front seat to paw through Dean's jacket pockets.

"Guess I don't have to tell you to be careful with her?" Sam wheezed, swallowing painfully.

"No, I got that, thanks," she retorted, rolling her eyes as she dropped back into the seat with the keys in hand. "You know, I _can_ drive—I've been doing it for years."

"Yeah, but…Dean's…particular." _And bitchy as hell about it._

"Sam, I know how important the car is to your brother. I'll take good care of her. And with any luck, he'll sleep all the way to the hotel and never suspect a thing."

"Jess, Winchesters have shitty luck."

"Well, fortunately for you, I have great luck, so we'll assume that mine trumps yours," she said with a smile.

And strangely enough, it did. Dean remained blissfully unaware of who was driving his car, and John was able to get him inside and laid out on the bed without a peep from Dean. Which was great but also mildly concerning.

As Sam held a cold compress to the angry red marks around his neck, John sat down beside his oldest, brushing his hand over Dean's head with a worried expression.

"So how about you two tell me what the hell you were thinking, going back into that house with him," he said to the twins in a low tone. It was a familiar tone, one Sam knew from a lifetime of experience as the one their dad used when he was inching from mildly pissed to outright furious.

_It's still early—it could go either way, _Sam decided as he watched the slight narrowing of his dad's eyes. _Aubrey might be able to talk him down…'course, that's _if _Braden keeps his mouth shut_. It was never a guaranteed thing—Bray just didn't get social cues. He wasn't often talkative, but if he wanted to volunteer some answers, he would, and more than likely, it wouldn't alleviate their father's anger.

Sam knew as well as the rest of them—well, except for Jessica—how much his younger brother's lack of concern or regret for his actions tended to piss their father off. Luckily, Aubrey could defuse John's temper pretty well when she wasn't hindered by Braden's input. It wasn't foolproof, of course, but her chances were good. If she played it right, this could end pretty well…

"It was D's—" Braden began, but Aubrey elbowed him in the side, breaking in smoothly.

"D was upset about Mama Mary, and he wanted to go back and try to help her. There wasn't any way we were gonna be able to stop him—"

"Then why the hell didn't you call me as soon as you knew what he was planning?"

"Ya'll wouldn't have made it in time! And we couldn't let him go in alone, Daddy! He was so upset, and he needed us!"

_No, he needed me and Dad_, Sam thought, suddenly angry as hell at himself for not being there sooner, for not having Dean's back. _ I should've known he would go back to the house—I _know _him, dammit! He never would've given up that easily. I knew and let him leave the fucking hotel room without me anyway. How stupid could I be?_

It was pretty stupid of their dad, too, when Sam thought about it. He knew Dean just as well as Sam did, and they _both_ knew for damn sure that their mom was a trigger for Dean like no other.

_Yeah, Dad should've never taken his eyes off him._

"Aubrey," John was saying, "your brother _obviously_ wasn't thinking clearly! You two never should've followed him in—it was fucking dangerous!"

"Then what were we supposed to do? You always say we should never go in without back-up and how we should always watch each others' backs—we were just doing what you taught us," Aubrey retorted angrily, and Sam wondered vaguely if she was channeling him at that moment. He could've sworn he'd said almost the exact same thing once…

"No, I taught you to _think_—and if any of you _had_ been thinking, you wouldn't have gone back into that house, especially after I fucking _told_ you not to!"

"Well Sam went back in and you're not yelling at him," Aubrey threw back, tossing Sam under the bus without a second thought.

_Thanks a lot_, he thought, rolling his eyes. It wasn't exactly a surprise. It was a Winchester tactical maneuver—a strategic redirect, one that Sam himself had used quite a few times, so he could hardly hold it against her. Hell, Braden pulled it every once in a while—when he cared enough to try. Dean was the only one who didn't engage in the practice, but he made up for it in other ways. Usually, it had about a 90% success rate when Aubrey employed it, but their father wasn't having it this time.

"We're not talking about Sam, Aubrey—we're talking about you and Braden! You're only fourteen! You're not making smart decisions here!"

"No, we're taking care of our brother," Braden interjected, and a thick silence fell over everyone. "It's what anyone else in this family would've done, and we think it's pretty shitty of you to bitch at us for it," he told their father calmly. "We did what we had to do to keep D safe. It wasn't a good idea—we knew that before we ever stepped over the threshold. D needed us, though, and we'd do it again in a heartbeat. But, if you want, we'll lie and tell you we're sorry. So can we skip this part already and move on?"

_Un-be-lievable._

"You mean to the part where I punish you?" John asked, though Sam could tell that the wind had effectively been taken from the old man's sails.

"If you have to. But honestly, I'd like to take care of this cut first," Braden told him, gesturing vaguely toward his forehead where blood was still oozing from his hairline. "It's sort of irritating."

"You have a cut, Braden—Dean has a fucking concussion," Sam told him sharply, annoyed by his younger brother's nonchalance.

"Better a concussion than a spirit-induced migraine," Braden retorted.

"How the hell would _you_ know?"

"Sam—" Jessica began, her tone the one that Sam recognized as her 'stop it right now' voice, but like all arguments in the Winchester family, everything else ceased to exist as the bickering escalated.

"D's fine, Sam. You're overreacting," Braden said, cutting Jessica off before she could continue.

"He's not fine—he's unconscious!" Sam yelled angrily, his throat protesting the abuse with a round of harsh coughs that left him wincing.

"Dude, you're such a girl," Braden told him with a smirk.

"Hey!" Aubrey cried, casting a resentful glare at her twin.

As though prompted by the argument, Dean suddenly shot up with a loud gasp, grabbing for his neck with a panicked expression.

"Dean?"

Knocking Braden out of the way, Sam moved towards his older brother, only to stumble as Braden retaliated with a kick to his calf. He turned to glare at the fourteen-year-old, hardly surprised by the cocked eyebrow and unrepentant stare of the younger boy, who was silently daring him to continue.

"You're such a dick, Braden."

"Knock it off, both of you!" John barked, trying to calm Dean and put a stop to the bickering at the same time.

"Where—I need—" Dean was panting, clawing at his neck frantically.

"It's there, son—it's right there," John told him gently, placing Dean's hand firmly over the amulet around his neck and holding it there, steadying him. "You alright? You with me?"

Dean stared past their father and _seemed_ to be looking at Sam, but Sam could tell his eyes weren't tracking anyone that was actually visibly present.

"Dean?" Sam asked hesitantly, casting a look at John only to grow more worried at the expression he saw there.

"…'s okay...wasn't your fault…" Dean whispered, gazing into space.

"Dean? Who are you talking to, son?" John asked carefully, caution mingling with hope in his voice.

"Nah…'s just a headache…but… 's nothing, I don't need—fine," he said angrily, turning his head to look at John only to pause, his eyes dropping as his face flushed. "No ma'am."

"Dean?"

"Mom says to get me some aspirin." A thick silence fell and nobody moved for a long moment. Dean finally looked up, glancing at John's face for only a moment before he looked away.

John moved then, returning a few moments later with the pills and a bottle of water and handing them to Dean with an enigmatic expression. Dean grunted in lieu of a thank-you, accepting the offerings without a word. It was when he didn't complain about getting water instead of Pepsi, though, that Sam sensed trouble brewing.

_Shit, not again... _

"You need anything else?" John asked after Dean swallowed the pills and placed the water on the bedside table.

Dean shook his head ever-so-slightly, wincing a bit as he carefully leaned back against his pillow without a word.

"Alright, well, you know the drill—how many fingers am I holding up?" John asked, holding up two fingers.

"Two," Dean mumbled, his expression revealing his obvious annoyance with the usual Q&A.

"What's today's date?"

"Dad, why do you always ask him that? He _never_ knows the date," Sam said with a sigh. "Ask him something he _does_ know. Dean, what's the first track on Metallica's _Black Album_?"

"Sam—" Dean began with what Sam could already tell was going to be excessively bitchy.

"Do it, Dean—you know we won't leave you alone until you do."

"Fine. It's 'Enter Sandman,' okay? Are you happy? Leave me alone."

"One more. Who's the lead singer of Led Zeppelin?"

"Robert Plant. 's not even fucking hard, Sam."

"It's not supposed to be, dumbass—it just has to be something that proves you don't have brain damage."

"Sorry," Dean mumbled, and Sam was pretty taken aback at the apology. Until he realized Dean wasn't talking to him. "…but…he's m' brother—I _always_ talk to him like that…okay, okay! Mom says stop, Sam."

"Uh…okay," Sam said slowly, not really sure how to respond to their mother when she wasn't actually standing there.

_She's tuned in to what's happening, so definitely not a residual-haunting kind of spirit. She's aware, but…damn, this is beyond weird…_

"So are we done? 'm tired," Dean said, obviously in one of his moods.

"You sure are pissy," Aubrey offered from the other bed.

"Well maybe it has something to do with the fact that _Braden_ thought that cold-cocking me with a shotgun was a good idea," Dean bit out, and from behind Aubrey, Jessica sighed and sank into a chair.

_She's obviously been with us long enough to know where this is heading. It's like watching an impending train wreck—you know it's coming, but there's not a damn thing you can do about it._

"Well, we didn't have a lot of options—I mean, you were yacking all over the lawn, and your shields were shot. What were we supposed to do?"

"How about _ask me_?"

"Okay, enough!" John broke in. "We can all agree that it wasn't a good solution, and it's not one that will be employed in the future. Let it go, and let's all move on."

Dean's eyes narrowed on their father, and he opened his mouth for what Sam just knew was going to be a blistering retort, only to bite down on it and turn away.

"Something on your mind, Dean?" John asked, obviously interpreting the look for what it was.

"No sir," Dean bit out.

"You sure?"

"Yessir. 'm fine," Dean replied, his expression stiff as he looked away from their father, shying away from eye contact the way he always did when the tension between them was high.

"Okay…well… look…about your mother…" John said slowly, no doubt trying to tread carefully in light of Dean's tenuous temperament. "She okay?"

"Define 'okay,'" Dean said, suddenly looking back at John with a flat expression. "I mean, she's only been trapped in that damned house for twenty years, but yeah, I'm sure she's just fucking dandy." The sarcasm alone would've been enough to make Sam wince, but as it was, the words themselves were pretty fucking harsh, too, and Sam found himself surreptitiously backing away.

"You watch your mouth when you talk to me!"

"You were gonna leave her there!" Dean yelled angrily, his headache seemingly forgotten as he rose to his feet to face their father head on. "She was trapped there, and you wanted to forget about it so we could track a fucking demon that we don't stand a snowball's chance in hell of killing! How could you do that? How could you put something else before her and just leave her there?"

"I didn't want to leave her there!" John roared, "And I sure as hell didn't do it lightly like you seem to think! This demon is after us—this isn't about tracking it down anymore! It's about protecting what's left of this family!" John yelled back.

"So, what, is Mom not part of this family? Has she been gone for so long that you don't—" Dean broke off, suddenly backing away as he shook his head. "Yes, I can," he bit out. "He left y—I don't care! No, I'm not apologizing! I meant every damn word!"

He turned on his heel, heading towards the bathroom with a dark expression.

"Wait just a damn minute. We're not done here," John told him, moving to intercept, his own expression just as dark as Dean's.

"_Mom_ says we are," Dean said coldly. "So if it's alright with you, I'm going to take a shower and cool off like she told me to, before I say something I actually regret."

With an expression that Sam couldn't quite interpret, John stepped back, watching wordlessly as Dean disappeared in the bathroom and slammed the door. A second later, John followed suit, storming out of the motel room, his truck keys in hand.

As the old GMC's engine fired up outside, the sound of shattering glass emanated from the bathroom, startling in the sudden silence that had filled the room.

"Guess we should have expected that," Braden said into the silence, looking not at all concerned as he pulled the first aid kit towards him and started pawing through it. "Can somebody help me with this cut?"

Aubrey stared after the door their dad had disappeared through, and then turned to Sam with a teary expression.

"He's gonna come back, right? He wouldn't just leave us, would he?"

"Of course he'll be back," Jessica quickly assured her, though Sam wasn't so sure.

_Normally, if past experience was anything to go by, the longest he'd stay gone is a couple of days, but…yeah, this isn't exactly what we're used to dealing with._

Deciding there was nothing he could do about their father, he stood up to do something he _could _do and help Dean when Braden spoke up.

"Sam, you gonna help me with this cut?"

"Let Jess take care of it—I wanna check on Dean."

"Uh, Sam—" Jessica began hesitantly, eyeing the still oozing cut on Braden's temple with a worried expression.

"Just holler if you think it needs stitches, and I'll come take care of it," he told her. "Otherwise, just clean it and put some steri-strips over it—it'll be fine." Grabbing Dean's bag, Sam pulled it closer and pawed through it until he found some clean clothes.

"Sam!" Braden called right before Sam reached the bathroom door. "Remember—duck and cover."

Sam rolled his eyes, but nevertheless took a deep breath before slowly turning the knob. Luckily, Dean hadn't locked it, and the door opened easily.

"Dean?" he asked softly as he peered around the door to see Dean sitting on the edge of the tub with his head in his hands.

"What?" Dean asked hotly, and Sam edged inside, even more uncertain about his reception. "I don't want to, Mom—'s too much," Dean was murmuring, and Sam eyed his brother with growing concern.

"You okay?"

"Are you serious?" Dean asked him flatly. "Mom's in my head, I've got a fucking headache, and I'm in a shitty motel bathroom—why the _hell_ would I be okay?"

Stepping cautiously over the broken shards that were left of the bathroom mirror, he moved towards his brother.

"Hey, at least she's with you and not in the house anymore. The headache's a bitch, but it'll go away, and you know, we'll be leaving the shitty motel behind tomorrow, so…I dunno, things are looking up?" Sam offered.

Dean stared at him for a long minute before he heaved a weary sigh, hanging his head.

"'m tired, Sammy."

"I know," Sam said softly, picking up the trashcan and carefully beginning to sweep the glass into it. "A lot of shit's gone down lately, and it sure as hell can't have been easy to deal with. Dad doesn't exactly make things easier, either…Look, why don't you go ahead and take that shower and then hit the sack like…um…Mom said."

"Yeah, I guess," Dean mumbled, reaching up with bleary eyes to peel his shirt over his head.

"Uh…so…you need anything?"

"Dude. Awkward much?"

"Yeah, that's what I was hoping you'd say," Sam told him with a halfhearted smirk. "But seriously— holler if you need something," he finished, heading for the door.

Dean made quick work of his shower, emerging five minutes later with a pained expression, his hair dripping in his eyes.

"Oh, Dean, honey," Jessica said sympathetically, pausing in her work on Braden to reach for the towel Dean was holding in his hands and steering him to a seated position on the bed, beginning to gently towel-dry his hair around the bruising on his temple.

"Head hurts," he mumbled, halfheartedly trying to push her hands away.

"Can we get you anything?" she asked as she finished drying his hair off.

"Nah, 'm alright."

"Well, _I'm_ not," Braden interjected. "I'm still bleeding here," he finished, aiming a pointed look at Jessica. With one last sympathetic look at Dean, Jessica returned to applying the steri-strips to Braden's head, even as she rolled her eyes at Braden's lack of sympathy.

Dean curled up on the bed, lying listlessly on his side with one hand clenched around his amulet. His eyes drifted shut before he could pull the obligatory pillow over his head, and Sam couldn't help but think how odd it was to see Dean without it. He was about to turn away when a waft of cold air blew past him and the bed by Dean's side sank slightly.

"What the—" he began, watching with wide eyes as Dean's hair lifted off his forehead, smoothed back from his face by an unseen hand.

"That's interesting," Braden commented, raising an eyebrow before refocusing on Jessica. "You about done?"

"Um…yeah," she replied distractedly, smoothing the last steri-strip down as she looked over at Sam, obviously trying to figure out if what they were seeing was something that should freak her out or not.

"Cool. Thanks. Aubby, you wanna go hang out in Dad's room? It's just next door, and we'd have dibs on the TV and both beds," he told her, obviously not at all concerned by the supernatural occurrences that were taking place.

"Uh….okay…I guess," Aubrey murmured, gazing at Dean intently before seemingly coming to a decision and hopping up to follow her twin.

"Don't forget the salt lines," Sam told them, still eyeing Dean's bed warily before glancing back at the twins. Braden rolled his eyes, stopping only long enough to grab his bag and Aubrey's before heading next door.

"Do they even have a key to your dad's room?" Jessica asked as the door closed behind them.

"Doubt it, but it doesn't matter—both of them know how to pick a lock."

"I don't know whether that's comforting, or alarming…but, um, speaking of alarming…should we be worried about…" She gestured in Dean's direction, where he slept, unaware of the strange goings-on that were taking place around him.

"No idea…I mean, it's our mom, and well…I don't see her hurting us, so…I guess we'll just ignore it."

"Ignore it? Seriously? Sam, it's kinda creepy."

"Don't worry about it—I doubt she's interested in you," he told her with a smile, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. He rocked her back and forth for a second, kissing her neck playfully before she turned in his grasp and wrapped her arms around his neck for a better kiss.

"Sam?"

Aubrey's voice was startling, and Sam turned to see her standing in the doorway with a solemn expression on her face.

"Aubrey, make some noise next time or something—you scared the shit outta me."

"Sorry."

"What is it?"

"Mama Mary wants to talk to you."

"Um…okay," Sam said, wondering just how awkward things were about to get.

_Having your mother speak to you via the clairaudient talents of your half-sister seems a little too much like the set up for a bad game of Telephone…_

Aubrey gazed back at him for a long moment, her eyes worried, before she exhaled and let her head drop. A second later, her head shot back up and a chill went down Sam's spine.

"Sam."

"Hey, Mom," he murmured, feeling more than seeing Jess retreat to the small table at the window.

"It's good to see you, sweetheart," she told him, a soft smile lighting her face.

"Um…Dad's not here. He…went out."

"Yes, I know. I'll be having words with him about that later. It's that temper of his—it always gets the best of him."

"Oh…well…if you didn't want to speak with Dad, then…"

"I wanted to speak to _you_, Sam."

"Oh," he said, rubbing his jaw awkwardly. _How do you talk to your dead mother? Hell, I never even spoke to her when she was alive. I mean, what's the fucking protocol for something like this? _He waited for her to continue, but she merely stood there, her eyes roving over him as though she was trying to take in what she was seeing.

"So…" Sam finally began, unable to take the awkward silence, "Dad managed to get the pictures from the basement…"

"Oh?"

"Yeah…so…do you think you'd be able to move on now?"

"Oh, baby, it's not the pictures that are holding me here."

"Then…what is?"

"Sammy…there's something I need to tell you."

Even if his mother's tone hadn't clued him in, the sinking feeling he got in his gut would have been enough to tell him that whatever she had to say was gonna be bad.

"It's about the yellow-eyed demon."

"You _know_ about him?"

"It's my fault he's after you."

"How is it your—wait, he's after _me_?"

"Yes."

"But why?"

"Sam…before you and your brother were born…I made a deal."

"What kind of deal?" he asked, the pit in his stomach growing with every word. "A crossroads deal?"

"Not that sort of deal. My soul was never on the table."

"Well, what kind of deal was it then?"

"It was a favor of sorts—I'd owe him one."

"Why the hell would you agree to owe a demon a favor, Mom?"

"It was for your father, Sam," she told him forcefully, heading him off before he could start ranting. "He was killed and I…I couldn't let him go, not like that. So when Yellow-Eyes showed up and offered to save him in exchange for a favor…I said yes."

"What was the favor? Did you promise to give me over to him?"

"No! You weren't even a gleam in your father's eye, but I would _never_ do that to you, Sam. Ever. Not one of my children."

"But I don't understand—if I wasn't the favor, then what does all of this have to do with me?"

"I was supposed to stay out of its way when it came calling, to not 'interfere.' When it came five years later, you were six months old."

An unnamed dread filled him at what he recognized as the start of a story that had been drilled into him since he was old enough to ask why he didn't have a mother.

"He came to your nursery that night. I heard you cry, and I went to your room…Yellow-Eyes was there."

"What was he doing?" Sam asked in a low voice.

"I don't know," she said softly, shaking her head regretfully. "He stood at your crib with his back to me—I never saw what he was doing. I was on the ceiling so fast that I never saw anything else, only your eyes staring up at me."

"And then?"

"I don't remember anything after that. You were the last thing I saw before…"

"Before you died," Sam finished, suddenly having a better understanding of the grief his older brother carried around. And the guilt his father carried. "It's my fault," he murmured, looking down at his feet.

"No," she told him vehemently, Aubrey's voice echoing strangely with the weight of his mother's words. "It's not your fault—I knew what I was dealing with when I made that bargain to save your father. The fault is _mine_ and mine alone. I didn't tell you this so that you could wallow in guilt that isn't yours—I told you because I don't want Yellow-Eyes to catch you off-guard. Demons will use the truth against you if—"

"They know it will hurt you—yeah, I know."

"Be on your guard, and stick close to your father and Dean—they're good hunters, and they'll keep you safe."

"I will."

She stared back at him through Aubrey's eyes, a fond smile slowly gracing her face.

"You grew up so handsome, and so smart—I'm proud of you."

"I didn't finish school, though—we had to leave."

"None of that matters—the measure of a man's character is far more important than letters after his name. You've grown into a good man, and the young lady behind you attests to it."

"Thanks, Mom," he whispered, his throat tightening at the words he hadn't even known he needed to hear. She was quiet as Jessica came up beside Sam and slipped her arms around him.

"Are you…will you be able to…move on now? Or are you going to stay with us?"

"Oh, honey, the dead shouldn't linger on this plane, and I've been here long enough. I'll leave soon—I wanted to speak to all of you before I go."

"Have you talked to Dean already? I mean, _really_ talked?"

"Not yet. He's struggling—this is hard for him."

"Yeah," he murmured, staring down at his feet and taking comfort from Jessica's arms around him.

"He needs time, Sam."

"I know, I just…I don't know what to do to help him."

"You don't have to _do _anything—you just need to _be there_. Dean will find his way."

"Okay," he told her with a half-smile, sincerely hoping she was right.

"Take care of your brother. And Jessica and the twins. Hold them close."

"I will, Mom."

"Goodbye, Sam. I love you."

"Love you, too," Sam whispered, his throat tightening as he watched Aubrey slowly seem to come to her senses, shaking her head with a dazed expression.

"You okay, Aub?"

"Um, yeah, I think so. I kinda feel like Whoopi Goldberg in that movie with Patrick Swayze and what's-her-name."

"_Ghost_?" Jessica supplied, stepping back from Sam with a smile at both of them.

"Yeah, that's the one. Channeling's weird."

"So, where'd Mom go? Is she still in your head?"

"Nah, I think she's back with D."

"She gonna talk to Dad?"

"Yeah, but he's not here, and I didn't want to go out and bar-hop to find him. 'sides, he's probably not in the most receptive mood…"

_Yeah, and drunk won't improve that, either._

"You sure he's coming back?"

"Yeah," he assured her. "It might be at the ass-crack of dawn, but he'll be back. Why don't you go on to bed," he suggested.

"Yeah, I'm pretty tired."

"You need me to put down some wards for you to sleep?"

"Nah, Bray can do it if I need 'em. I think I'm good, though."

"Okay. Good night."

"Night, Sam," she told him, hurrying forward to wrap her arms around him and hug him before heading for the door. As the door shut behind her, Sam found himself simply staring after her, trying to make sense of everything that had happened.

"Sam, c'mon, come to bed. You need some sleep, too," Jessica said softly. He let her pull him to the bed, shedding his outer layers until he was clad in boxers and t-shirt before he crawled into bed. He slid behind her, burying his face in her hair as his mind continued to race with the implications of all his mother had told him.

_Did Dad know? All this time, did he know? Does Dean know? Would he really not tell me if he knew? _

Hours ticked by, and Sam heard his father's truck pull up outside. A few minutes later, he heard the door to the next room open and close, and still, Sam found himself unable to sleep. He couldn't bring himself to go ask his father the questions his mother's revelation had raised, but he couldn't exactly silence the questions in his mind, either. So as it was, Sam was awake when he heard his brother stir.

Glancing over, Sam watched his brother slowly crawl out of bed and reach for his duffel. If he'd been asleep, he never would have known his brother was up, Sam realized as he watched Dean dress soundlessly.

"Dean?" he whispered as Dean headed for the door.

Dean stilled, his hand on the door handle as Sam eased out of bed.

"You okay?"

"I gotta do something."

"Well, gimme a minute to put clothes on, and I'll come with you."

"You leavin' Jess alone?"

"We put down salt lines—she'll be alright. And Dad's next door," Sam said, dragging his jeans up over his hips and reaching for his hoodie and jacket on the chair. Without replying, Dean started heading out the door, and Sam wasn't at all sure that he'd wait. Jamming his feet into his shoes, he leaned down to kiss Jessica's forehead, checking the salt-lines at the door and window before he hurried after Dean, suddenly reminded of the thousands of times he'd chased after his older brother over the years.

He pulled the door closed behind him, running for the car just as Dean was starting to back the car up. He slapped a hand down on the hood, meeting Dean's eyes through the windshield. Dean stared back at him for a long moment, and Sam found himself wishing that things were different.

_Two years ago, he never would've even thought to pull away without me. How did it get so bad between us that he's even considering it now? _

Finally, Dean gestured towards the door and with a sigh of relief, Sam hurried around the front of the car and slid into the passenger seat.

"You sure about this?" Dean asked him quietly.

"Yeah, I'm with you."

"You're not gonna ask me any questions?"

"Nope," Sam replied.

"Why not? You usually do."

"Because I'm not gonna let you go it alone again—I dropped the ball before. I didn't have your back when I should've, the way you've always had mine. So, this time, I'm gonna be right there. No matter what."

"Okay, I shouldn't have asked," he said as he pulled up at the gas station that was just two buildings down from the motel.

"Why? I was just telling you how—"

"You feel—yeah, I know. Look, Sam, I can't handle chick-flick emo moments with you right now. 's too much. Just…stay here, alright?" Dean said, climbing out of the car and moving around to the trunk. Sam watched wordlessly as Dean pulled out two red gas cans and filled them at the pump before placing them on the backseat.

_Oh shit. Please don't be planning to do what I think you're planning to do._

"Um, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Gasoline?"

"Yeah, I know," Dean said regretfully. "Kerosene woulda been better, but I gotta go with what's on hand. It's easier to get gasoline."

_Uh, yeah, that's not really what I meant,_ Sam thought as Dean started the car and pulled out.

"So…just to clarify…are you gonna set the place on fire?"

"Yep," Dean told him, sounding a bit too happy about it for Sam's comfort. "Gonna burn it to the ground. Take care of the fucking poltergeist once and for all."

_This is about more than just the poltergeist, but okay, I'll bite._

"So what the fuck's wrong with your voice, anyway?" Dean asked, no doubt trying to shift Sam's attention to something a little safer.

"The poltergeist tried strangling me with a lamp cord," Sam told him, lifting his chin and lowering the collar of his coat so Dean could catch a glimpse of the bruising around his throat.

"Ouch. How'd you get out of it?"

"Jess, actually. She sent it packing long enough for Dad to loosen the cord."

"Bad-ass," Dean murmured appreciatively, and Sam didn't bother to tell him Jess had only thrown a salt circle up around them.

_She's not Rambo, but… it was still pretty bad-ass of her…_

"So do you want some help?" Sam asked as Dean pulled the car to a stop in front of their old house.

"If you're sure you're up for it," Dean replied, not glancing at him as he opened the door to get out.

"Yeah, I'm in. So what do you want me to do?"

"Grab a gas can."

"We goin' in?"

"Nah—too risky. You go left, I'll go right, and we'll meet in the middle—you know what to do."

Sam nodded and reached for a gas can, his brain screaming at him that the whole thing was a bad idea.

_My chances at a law career go up in flames along with the house if I get caught. We so shouldn't be doing this…_

With a sigh, he grabbed the gas can and hurried after Dean, casting a quick glance around to make sure no one was out and about.

_Unlikely at two in the morning, but still, better safe than sorry._

Dean made quick work of the task, doing his share as well as finishing Sam's before pushing him back towards the car. Leaning in to the trunk, Dean pulled out a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels, holding it in one hand while he pawed through the trunk's contents.

"Kind of a weird time for a drink, don't you think?"

"'s not for a drink, dumbass," Dean told him as he ripped up a t-shirt and stuffed the end of one piece into the bottle. "You comin' with me?" he asked quietly as he closed the trunk with a resounding thud. Sam was about to beg off and head for the car, but then he caught sight of his brother's eyes.

"I will if you want me to."

"Yeah," Dean murmured. "I…I just…I want you there, Sammy." Sam stared back at him for a moment, recalling his mother's words to him.

"_You don't have to _do_ anything—you just need to be there." _

_I get it, Mom. I'll take care of it._

"I'm with you, man," Sam told him, laying his hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezing in a show of solidarity and brotherhood that he wasn't sure they'd had for a long time. Dean reached up and grasped Sam's forearm, sharing a look with him that Sam wasn't sure he could put into words.

But then, he didn't really need to.

As Dean approached the house, Sam walked beside him, stopping when Dean paused on the front lawn. He stared back at the house for what seemed like forever, and Sam wondered if his brother was finally facing his past, staring down all the grief and the pain that went along with it.

_Maybe he'll be able to let some of it go finally._

"Yeah, I do," Sam heard him say, and it only took a second to realize Dean was responding to something that only he heard, and Sam watched Dean's jaw tighten imperceptibly as he nodded resolutely. He reached for his lighter and flipped it open. A quick flick of his thumb had the flame lit, and without a word, he lit the end of the shirt dangling from the bottle.

A look of pure, unadulterated rage came over Dean's face and he suddenly hurled the makeshift Molotov cocktail at the side of the house, watching with satisfaction as the glass shattered and the flames ignited.

_It's kinda scary how much he seems to like setting fire to shit. And how fucking good at it he is. I mean, damn._

The house was going up fast, the flames casting an orange glow on Dean's shadowed face as they watched it all burn.

"Dude, we gotta go—it's not a good idea for us to be standing here when the neighbors call the fire department," Sam said after a couple of minutes.

Dean was silent, and Sam waited, trying not to get impatient when it was so obvious that his brother needed this. But when he started hearing sirens screaming in the distance, he knew he couldn't put it off any longer.

"C'mon, Dean," he said softly.

"I just want to make sure it all goes."

"It will," Sam told him confidently. "We can't stay here any longer, though—they'll be here soon." Reaching out, he grasped Dean by the arm and gently started pulling him toward the car. With one last look, Dean let himself be pulled, dropping into the passenger seat and passing Sam the keys without protest.

Sam peeled out of their old neighborhood for what he knew was the last time, and only after they'd left the sound of sirens behind did he ease up on the accelerator.

"You okay?" he asked, purposefully not looking at his brother in case he needed a minute.

"I dunno. I mean, I still got the dead yappin' at me, and my head still hurts like a bitch, but…at least I burned that damn house to the ground. Maybe now I can get some fucking sleep."

"You have nightmares about it? How come you never said anything?"

Dean turned to give him a strange look, quirking his eyebrow in a familiar 'what the hell' look.

"Seriously? Sam, c'mon—I'm not _you_. I don't get sudden urges to emote," he said pointedly, and Sam found himself grinning, both surprised and a little suspicious at Dean's sudden shift from sullen to smart-alecky.

_Hard to say if he really means it—if he's acting true to form, then he's just bullshitting me. Classic Winchester avoidance tactic: redirect with humor._

But Sam nevertheless found himself going along with it.

"Sure you do," he retorted, "You just break shit when you do it."

"That's my manly way of expressing myself so that I don't have to _verbalize_ my feelings the way girls do. You should try it some time."

"Are you kidding? We couldn't afford it. Hell, Bobby would never let us through the front door if _both_ of us broke his shit every time we visit."

"Dude, don't remind me—I owe him so much fucking money that my first-born is on the table now."

"If you ever make it that far—Dad's gonna kill you when he finds out about your budding career as an arsonist."

"He's gonna know it was me, isn't he?"

"Uh…well, since the odds of our old house spontaneously combusting are pretty damn slim, I'd say, _yeah_. That has 'you' written all over it."

"Fuck. Yeah, you're right." He was quiet for a long moment before he said, "I didn't even get to watch it all. I wanted to watch the whole fucking house go."

"Sorry, man."

"Maybe I can drive by there tomorrow and check."

"Bad idea, bro—arson investigators will be on the look-out—it's not unusual for an arsonist to return to the scene."

"You watch too many crime shows. You know I'm not _actually_ an arsonist."

"You sure you're not splitting hairs there? I mean, you set fire to shit all the time—it just goes unnoticed since you're setting fire to bones instead of buildings. And you got that house to go up in flames pretty damn fast—that _reeks_ of past experience, man. So how long have you been a closet fire-setter, Dean?" he asked him sarcastically.

Dean shifted, reaching for the radio, his jaw tight as he spoke.

"You breathe a word to Dad, and I'll kick your ass, Sammy."

_Wait, what?_

"Uh, I was kidding, Dean," he said with disbelief, taking his eyes off the road to aim a quick look at his older brother.

"Oh. Well, damn. Forget I said anything, then."

"No way, dude—spill. You've really been setting fire to stuff? Since when?"

"C'mon, man, gimme a break."

"Talk, or I tell Dad," Sam retorted, not above the little brother tactic of tattling if it got him some answers.

"Fuck. Look, it's not a big deal. I don't even do it that often, and I'm really fucking careful about where—I've never hurt anybody, and I don't set fire to anything that's not totally abandoned and falling apart."

"No, but seriously, though, how long have you been doing it?"

"I dunno," Dean said exasperatedly. "Since I was a kid—I started small."

"And Dad never knew?"

"Why the hell would he?" Dean asked, sounding legitimately curious. "Sammy, you know what Dad was like when we were kids—all I had to do was wait for him to get fixated on a hunt and then I could pretty much do whatever the hell I wanted."

"Well, how come you never told _me_?"

"Because you'd do what you're doing now—talk me to death about it. 'sides, it's private. I didn't _want_ to tell you."

"Why do you do it?"

"Why the hell do you have to put it under a fucking microscope? I do it because I want to. I like watching shit burn—so what?" Dean said defensively.

"I just thought…well, since Mom burned…I dunno, I just figured you wouldn't like fire much."

"Me and fire have a complicated relationship."

"No shit," Sam told him with a sigh, shaking his head. He let silence fall, only the sounds of Dean's music filling the car.

"Well…did burning the house down help?"

"I thought we just went over this," Dean told him with an aggravated tone.

"No, I mean…did Mom move on?"

"No," Dean said curtly, his tone more than enough to let Sam know that it wasn't on the table for discussion. Sam let the silence fall for a minute, casting quick looks at his brother to gauge his mood before he spoke up again.

"Dean?"

"Dammit, Sam, _what_?"

"You think you'll be okay now?" he asked, ignoring Dean's mood to ask what he really wanted to know. And no doubt, Dean knew him well enough to know that Sam wasn't likely to leave it alone until he got an answer.

_True. So true._

Dean sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, before dropping his hand back to the steering wheel wearily.

"I dunno, Sammy. Not yet, but…I think maybe I'm gettin' there."

And in that moment, that was enough for both of them.

* * *

A/N: So hope you all liked the chapter—sorry that it took so long. To everyone who reviewed and PM'ed me, thank you so very much—the reviews really do motivate me! I'd also like to thank all of you who have hung in there despite the long waits between chapters.

**cab60**: Thanks for the review—hopefully, the rereads gave you something to do while you were waiting for the update. You can also check out the one-shots in the verse as well, if you haven't already—something to tide you over until the next chapter.

**nativegirl32**: If you're anything like me, updates come into my email when I don't have time to read them, so I leave them there and think, "Oh, I'll get to it later," only later never comes. Next thing you know, another chapter is up and you start reading it only to realize, "Wait, what?" Glad you found the last chapter and enjoyed it! Hopefully, you'll like this one, too! Thanks for reviewing!

**7kstar**: It's tricky in this chapter with Dean and Mary, since the chapter is told from Sam's POV, but at the moment, I'm thinking the next one might be Dean. I don't know for sure, since I haven't started writing it, but that's what I'm hoping to do. We'll see. Thanks for sending me a review and for being understanding about the sucky wait.

**eggylaine**: You know, honestly, despite all of the angst, I'm very much a "happily ever after" kind of girl, so I didn't want Sam and John to constantly be at each other's throats. The thing is, now that Sam's back, it's eased John's worry to some degree, and there's also Jess—the two factors ease some of the tension. Granted, I've made up for that by having Dean and John "fight," but it too shall pass. Anyways, thanks for the review!

**zuimar**: Oh, Z, I'm so glad you stuck with me! It's been forever since I posted, but I'm not planning to give up on the story, I promise! I got bogged down with the wedding, work, some side editing work, sickness, and just about everything else, so I'm only just getting back to my fic. I tried to get it done quickly, but I ran into some snags in the actual chapter that also contributed to the delay. I got 'em worked out, though, so hopefully, you'll let me know what you think! In regard to your question about the italics, I just weave together parts of sentences that I think unrestful spirits would be yelling about, jumbling them together and interspersing bits that Mary or TK would say. I was going for verbal chaos so that it would create a sense of the cacophony that Dean is dealing with. Anyways, thanks again for reviewing!

**TheWater'sChild**: Unfortunately, the wedding did eat up my time. I had hoped to get back to my fic afterward, but a whole bunch of RL stuff interfered. I'm glad you sent a review—it's given me a possible idea for the next chapter (which I'm hoping will be a Dean-centric chapter), so thanks for that! Anyways, here it is, the long-awaited chapter 46. I do hope you like it!

**Nyx Ro**: Thanks for sending a review—sorry you had to wait so long for the update!

**Yohko Bennington**: RL has been extra-busy and an even bigger pain these last few months than usual. My husband is out of town for training right now, so I've been at home alone with my dogs the past few weeks—I've been able to work on it a bit more, though not much, since I'm still having to grade papers and such. Oh well. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for sending me a review!

**Soccerchick6**: So, what did you think? Was Dean's return to consciousness good? I like angst, but I also like some bad-ass Dean, too, so I was trying to achieve bits of both. Thanks for reviewing the last chapter!

**ohgravitysonfire**: Yep, I totally come up with random "stories" that I think could elicit spirits to stick around. Then I imagine what they might be trying to tell Dean, and then I scramble them all together. I figure if so many were yelling at Dean, he wouldn't be able to focus on just one, so all the voices would blur together. I was going for verbal chaos. And yes, Mary is definitely in there, too. Anyways, thanks for reviewing, despite the long wait!


	47. All in, Double or Nothing

A/N: YAY! I updated in less than two weeks! That's gotta be a record! Take note, friends!

Thanks to my beta, who incidentally, is my wonderful husband, who read this chapter despite exhaustion, simply because he knew I really wanted him to—he's sweet like that. Having a live-in beta is the best.

Chapter 47: All-in, Double or Nothing

**all-in****: to bet the entire bankroll. Example: **_**"I'm all in"**_** means, **_**"I bet everything I have"**_** ("All-in")**

**double ****or nothing:** **where the loser of a bet gets another chance at the bet. When a "double or nothing" bet is requested by the loser, if the winner accepts, then they play again. If the loser of the initial bet loses again, then the winner gets double the original bet. But, if the loser wins, then he owes nothing ("Double or Nothing")**

"So…do you think Dad knows we're gone?" Sam asked as they neared the motel.

"You can bet on it," Dean told him, well aware of their father's penchant for knowing when they were up to stuff, Dean's childhood fire-starting incidents notwithstanding. There was maybe a small chance that he didn't know about this one, but Dean didn't think the odds were in their favor.

"How, though? I mean, we were pretty quiet, and he came in late…and let's face it—he had to be at least a little wasted."

"How can you be 'a little wasted,' Sammy? You're either wasted or you're not."

"Okay, fine, so he was wasted. Answer my question—how would he know?"

"Well, aside from the fact that he just always seems to know when I drag you into stuff, a little bit of Jack's never slowed him down before. Why would now be any different?"

"True… Shit. You gonna lie when he asks where we've been?"

"Won't do any good—he's gonna be pissed either way."

"Are you even gonna be able to talk to him? You haven't been doing so great with—"

"I could talk to him if I wanted to," Dean told him churlishly.

"Uh-huh," Sam retorted, obviously not buying it.

_Time to change the subject._

"Sammy, I've got the fucking headache from hell, thanks to Braden—do you really have to keep yappin' at me? Can we do this later?"

"I'm just saying—"

"Dude. Seriously."

"Alright, alright! Fine. Maybe we'll luck up and he'll be sleeping it off—if we leave town early enough, he'll never even have to know what we did."

"Wishful thinking, bro," Dean told him, figuring it was highly unlikely that their dad didn't know they were gone.

"Yeah," Sam muttered as he pulled into the parking lot of the motel and brought the car to a gentle stop in the space next to John's truck.

"No fucking way," Dean said, eyeing the parking lot suspiciously. It was completely empty of people, only a few vehicles scattered sporadically.

"Maybe we got lucky."

"Since when have we _ever_ gotten lucky? Our luck is shit, Sammy," Dean told him as Sam brought the car to a stop.

"Well how would _you_ explain it? Dad's not out here waiting for us…"

"Doesn't mean he's oblivious."

"Well, I don't wanna sit in the car for what's left of the night, so let's just hope it lasts and go inside, okay?"

"Yeah, I guess," Dean grumbled, slowly pushing open his door as Sam shot out of the car and hurriedly unlocked the door of their room. Dean shook his head as he watched Sam rush inside only to reappear a few seconds later with an alarmed expression.

"Dean, she's gone! She's not in there!"

"You sure she's not in the bathroom?"

"The bathroom door's open, Dean!" Sam barked, dragging his hands through his hair as he looked around in growing panic.

"Doesn't mean she's not in there," Dean told him reasonably, not quite alarmed just yet.

"She's a chick, Dean—she closes the fucking door!"

"Alright, look, we'll find her," he told his younger brother, squeezing Sam's shoulder before gently herding them towards the room next door. "Let's go wake Dad."

"Dean, if anything happens to her—"

"Nothin's gonna happen to her, alright?" he said, knocking on their father's door as he tried to calm Sam down before he worked himself up any further.

A second later, their father opened the door, a dark expression on his face that had Dean instantly on guard.

_Shit. He knows._

"_Yo, man, your old man's got that look,_" TK announced suddenly.

'_What look?'_

"_That 'shit's-'bout-to-hit-the-fan' look. Your ass is in trouble, man."_

"_Yeah, probably. But we've got bigger problems right now—Jessie's gone."_

"Dad! It's Jess—she's gone!" Sam was saying, obviously missing the look that Dean had picked up on.

"_Nah, man, she ain't gone—she's inside with your pops."_

_Son of a bitch._

"Sam—" he began, trying to stop Sam before he could blurt out the truth, but Sam had already launched into a full-blown confession of leaving Jess in the room alone while they went out.

_Dammit_, he thought, massaging his temples as Sam continued on, and all Dean could do was hope that Sam at least kept his mouth shut about their trip down arson lane.

"We just left for a little while to take care of something, and now she's gone, and there's no sign of—"

"Sam?" they heard from behind their father, and a second later, Jessica ducked under John's arm. Spotting her, Sam grabbed her, hugging her tightly. Desperately.

"God, I thought I'd lost you," Sam choked out.

"You could have," John said abruptly, cutting off any reply Jessica could have made, and Sam stilled, looking up at their dad even as Dean felt a familiar sense of helplessness come over him.

"No, really, I'm okay," Jessica started to say, but it was too late. The fires had been kindled, and Dean knew well enough where things were heading.

"Dad, we were just—" Sam began loudly, but John cut him off, already gearing up for what Dean knew was going to be a throw-down the likes of which hadn't been seen since the Stanford Incident.

"You left her alone in the middle of the fucking night to go out gallivanting God-knows-where with your brother while we've got a demon after us!"

"We weren't gallivanting," Sam said hotly, "and I laid the salt lines—"

"Salt won't keep a high-order demon out, Samuel! If it were that fucking easy, we wouldn't be on the run, now, would we? And as if that wasn't bad enough, not only did you leave her here alone, you left her without a damn thing to protect herself with! What the hell were you thinking?"

"What the fuck, Dad? You said it yourself: 'If you can't shoot, you've got no business with a gun'—she doesn't know how to shoot! You'd have bitched at me if I _had _left her with a gun!"

"You shouldn't have _left _her at all!" John roared. "It's a _demon_, Sam! It already tried to kill her once and you just left her in that fucking room alone! You could've gotten her killed tonight!"

The words were harsh, vicious even, and a heavy silence fell as no one moved.

Sam's eyes filled with hot, angry tears, his jaw working as he struggled to respond. Furiously shaking his head, he spun on his heel without a word and threw himself back into the car before Dean could move to catch him, the tires screeching as he wheeled out of the parking lot.

Dean watched him go, feeling the worst sense of déjà vu ever as his little brother disappeared around the corner.

"_Like we didn't see that coming," _TK told him.

'_Shut the fuck up—nobody asked you,' _Dean snarled back, in no mood to have his family's shortcomings pointed out to him.

_As if I don't already fucking know._

"Shit," John was muttering, and Dean turned slowly to face him as Jessica spoke.

"Mr. Winchester, it really wasn't as serious as all that," she said softly.

"It could've been," John replied softly.

"Why would you say that to him?" Dean forced out between clenched teeth. "Why?"

"Dean, I—" He sighed, dragging his hand through his hair as he looked away. "Dean, if anything happened to Jessica, it would kill him. He'd have to live with the guilt for the rest of his life, and that kind of guilt changes a man. He'd never be the same…I don't want that to happen, and I'll do what I have to do to make sure it doesn't."

"Not that way, Dad," he said, shaking his head. "You didn't need to do that."

"Look…just…take Jessica and go after him," John said tiredly, more than a hint of regret in his voice, though Dean knew that was probably as close to an apology as he'd get.

_Dammit, Dad, why do I always gotta do damage control? I'm fuckin' tired._

"_Don't be angry with your father, sweetheart. His heart was in the right place, even if his methods were misguided."_

His mother's words whispered through his mind, her voice alone enough to ease some of the anger that was building, and Dean sighed, holding his hand out for the keys to the truck. His father tossed them, an apology in his eyes, but Dean ignored it, snatching the keys out of the air.

"Jessie, you comin'?"

"Yeah," she said softly, following him wordlessly to the truck as John disappeared back into the motel room, the door closing quietly behind him.

Dean started the truck, putting his seatbelt on as he backed out of the parking space.

_Truck drives like a brick. 'm gonna kick Sammy's ass for taking off in my baby._

"You think you could turn on the heat, Dean?"

For a second, he totally mistook what she said, and he glanced over at her with what he knew had to be a WTF expression.

Then, of course, he realized she was wearing nothing but a t-shirt, lightweight pajama pants, and a pair of flip-flops.

_Not the best wardrobe choice for October in Kansas._

"Oh, right—sorry," he told her, reaching over to turn the heat on as he awkwardly maneuvered his way out of his jacket. He passed it to her and she gratefully accepted it, using it like a blanket and tucking her feet up under her so she was completely covered.

"So…do you think we'll be able to find him?" she asked.

"Yeah. He won't go far, not with you here."

"I'm really sorry—I didn't mean to cause trouble."

"''s not your fault," he told her with a shrug. "'sides, these days, there's usually trouble anyway," he added under his breath.

"But it _is_ my fault—I woke up, and you and Sam were gone," she admitted. "There wasn't a note or anything, and…well…I got scared. I didn't know what else to do, so I went next door to your dad. But I swear I didn't know he'd—"

"Listen, I'd say it's pretty damn likely that you're going to be a permanent addition to the family, so it's probably best that you understand this now—Dad and Sam, they bitch at each other. A lot. It's fuckin' loud and annoying as hell, but it's in no way _your_ fault. And I can tell you from experience that trying to fix it is a lot like pissin' in the wind, so save yourself the trouble and don't worry about it. Sam'll stay mad for a few days, and Dad'll ignore it, and eventually, things go back to normal."

_As shitty as that might be._

"Okay," she said, heaving a sigh of her own, quiet for a moment as she considered his words. Dean was just reaching for the stereo when Jessica spoke again. "So…you really think I'm likely to be a permanent addition to the family?"

"Jessie, when everything went to hell, when you could've turned your back and left my brother and all of this fucked up shit behind you, you didn't. You stuck by him, which says a shitload about how you feel about him. And I know he feels the same way about you, and that counts for a lot in this family. So yeah, I'd say the odds are good that you'll have a ring on your finger before long. In fact, the twins and I are betting on how long it takes Sam to grow a pair and fucking propose already. I bet it'd be before this month is out, so do what you can to get him to hurry the hell up."

"Aww, Dean, you're so romantic," she snarked, smirking at him before reaching for the radio herself.

"Look, Jessie, before we go any further, there's something you need to know," he told her as she surfed through the stations.

"What?" she asked, looking up with a concerned expression_._

"Winchesters have this rule, you see: driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole. Now, since you're an honorary member of the family right now, I'm willing to make some concessions for you—I'll let you pick a few. But absolutely none of that pop or country bullshit that just pretends to be music. And if you put a boy-band on, you lose all radio privileges for the foreseeable future, and any respect I might have had for you and your musical tastes is gone."

She laughed, shaking her head with a smile before finally stopping on a Guns 'n Roses song.

_Not bad. Definitely tolerable, and way better than the shit Aubrey always wants to listen to. _

"Dean, there!" she yelled, and Dean looked over to see the Impala in the far corner of a gas station parking lot, Sam sitting on the edge of the hood. Dean wheeled in, parking in the space beside his baby, eyeing the beer in Sam's hand.

"Stay here—gimme a few minutes."

"Okay," Jessica murmured, and steeling himself, Dean stepped out of the truck, mentally preparing himself for the impending girl-moment of talking to Sam about his _feelings._

_I've got a total girl for a brother._

"_Dean, be nice to your brother."_

'_Yes, Mom,' _Dean told her, smirking as he moved to join his brother at the Impala.

"You stole my car, bitch."

"Sorry," Sam mumbled, reaching out and dropping the keys into Dean's hand.

"So…you alright?" he asked, hoping against hope that this might be the time where Sam took one out of the Winchester Book of Handling Emotional Shit and denied that anything was wrong.

"No."

_Fuck._

"Look, dude, Dad was just blowin' off some steam. He didn't—"

"But he was right, Dean! I could've gotten Jess killed, and I'd have had no one to blame but myself! And what's even worse is that things aren't gonna get any better. As long as she's with me, she's in danger. I gotta—"

"Whoa! Slow the fuck down for a second," Dean told him, grabbing his younger brother by the front of his shirt and jerking him forward a bit. "Listen to me, Sammy. That girl, for some _reason_, is able to overlook your many annoying personality traits and actually love you. You are _not_ going to fuck that up because you're having a sudden attack of 'stupid.' If you'd get your head out of your ass for a minute, you'd see that Dad only said all that shit because he's trying to keep you from going through what he did when Mom died."

"I love her more than anything, Dean, but…she'd be safer without me," Sam murmured, turning to him with an agonized expression that Dean suspected was only a step away from tearful.

"No, Sammy, she'd be a _target_ without you," Dean told him softly. "D'you really think that breaking it off with her would change anything? She could still be used against you, dumbass. At least if she stays with us, we can keep her safe, teach her how to protect herself."

"You really think we can keep her safe?"

"Yeah, Sammy, I do. Hell, we've managed to keep the twins alive all this time, and Dad kept you and me alive before that—the man's gotta be doing _something_ right."

"I never wanted this for us. I wanted things to be normal."

"Yeah, well, this is it—you play the hand you've been dealt, Sammy. Hell, I'm far from a 'glass half-full' kinda guy, but if you look at the bright side…she knows everything, and she _still_ didn't leave your ass. And you don't even have to lie to her about all this shit. I'd say you hit the jackpot with that one."

"Yeah," Sam mumbled.

"Look, Sam, this girl's important to you. Stop being a whiny, emo bitch about this and just buy her a damn ring already."

_Preferably soon, so I don't lose the bet._

"Wow, Dean," Sam said dryly. "That was so fucking inspiring."

"I aim to please, little brother. Now talk to your girl already so we can go. I want some booze and some sleep."

"Dad's not gonna let you have booze, man—you're concussed."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Yeah, but I'm totally gonna tell him."

"You narc on me, Sammy, and I will kick your ass," Dean told him, shoving his shoulder just hard enough to knock him off balance. As Sam regained his footing, Dean moved to the driver's side door of his baby. "Get off my car, bitch—I'm goin' back to the motel to get some sleep." He tossed the Sierra's keys to his brother, who caught them easily. "And quit fucking drinking before your pansy-ass is too wasted to drive. Jessie can't drive the truck, so toss the beer."

"Yeah, yeah. You know, I _can_ handle my alcohol, Dean," Sam said, rolling his eyes even as he tossed the beer in a nearby trashcan.

"Sure you can, lightweight. Seriously, though, hurry up and get back—don't make me wait up for you two," Dean teased, sliding into his baby's familiar seat. He kept the smirk up until he was out of their sight, only then giving into the pain-filled grimace he'd been fighting back for the past two hours.

"_That was sweet of you, Dean."_

'_I don't know what you're talking about,' _he told his mother, uncomfortable with what he feared was about to turn into a total chick-flick moment. Two in one night was a bit much, and to have one with his mother was _way_ over the top.

"_You've grown into a good man, and no matter what, I'll always be proud of you."_

"If this is about to turn into a goodbye speech, save it—I don't wanna hear it," Dean said aloud, his headache starting to pound enough to make internal dialoguing difficult.

"_You know I can't stay much longer, baby. I need you to be prepared."_

"No," he told her, vaguely aware that he sounded a lot like a petulant three-year-old, but with his head aching, he couldn't find it in himself to care, his ability to hide the pain gone.

"_Dean."_

Dean flinched as his mother's voice whispered through his mind, her tone so much like Sam's "be reasonable" voice that it was only then that Dean realized where Sam got it from.

"Later," he told her. "We can talk about it later."

_Or not._

"_Alright, sweetheart,"_ she replied, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He knew it was only a brief respite, but something was better than nothing. He couldn't handle much more at the moment.

He reached the motel and face-planted on his bed as soon as he was inside, losing himself to the obliviousness of sleep. The next thing he knew, Sam was shaking his shoulder.

"Dean? Post-concussion two hour wake up call, man—you with me?"

"Yeah," Dean mumbled. "Lemme 'lone, bitch."

Sam asked him the perfunctory questions, which Dean managed to answer to his satisfaction, and Dean fell back asleep quickly, unaware of anything else until their dad banged on the door, yelling, "Breakfast—get a move on!"

Groans followed and Dean hazarded a glance at the clock, grimacing at the unwelcome sight of 8:23 AM.

_What the fuck, man? He should be hung-over and sleeping it off, not waking us up this early when we've been up most of the damn night._

"Boys! Jessica! Get a move on!"

"This is his passive-aggressive way of punishing us for last night," Sam grumbled, shoving his tousled hair out of his eyes with a tired sigh.

"Better the passive-aggressive way than the aggressive way," Dean muttered, dragging the pillow off his head with a sigh.

"He's such an asshole."

"Sam," Jessica admonished, casting a disapproving look at him before getting out of bed and heading to the bathroom for a quick shower, grabbing her bag along the way.

"Don't use all the hot water!" Dean yelled after her, rolling over onto his stomach and burying his face in his pillow tiredly as Jessica shut the door behind her with a laugh. "She's gonna use all the hot water, isn't she?" he asked, his voice muffled as he listed to the shower start.

"Yep," Sam answered.

"Shit. Wake me when she's out."

"Sure thing, bro."

* * *

Thirty-eight minutes, two aspirin, and a cold shower later, Dean was sitting at a table in a small-town diner trying to eat breakfast with his family. The problem was, breakfast was proving to be awkward as hell. Sam was obviously still mad at their dad despite Dean's pep talk the night before, and Aubrey was just as obviously trying to make things less awkward by chattering incessantly. Jessica clearly didn't know what to say or do, either, so she mimicked Dean's decision to say nothing. Braden was quiet, too, but only because he either didn't notice or didn't give a damn.

"Jessica," John began as he refilled his coffee cup from the pot on the table, "next town we stop in, you're with me."

"Um…okay," she told him slowly, eyeing him with confusion. Sam looked up, narrowing a suspicious gaze on their father, even as Dean quirked an eyebrow. "Can I ask why?" she asked him, pouring another cup of her own.

"Gotta start teaching you to shoot," John told her gruffly.

"Really?" Jessica asked him, her eyes lighting up at the prospect, her coffee forgotten.

"Yeah, it's time you learned. I can't have you defenseless. It's like I told Aubrey—I'm not having one of mine walking around like a damn target."

_Okay, so it's official—Dad's acknowledging her as a part of the family. C'mon, Sammy, get with the fucking program already. _

_I'm gonna end up having to take matters into my own hands because my brother's a dumbass._

Dean continued to eat, paying no attention as his dad gave Jessica the gun safety spiel and instead choosing to focus on the deliciousness of his bacon and TK telling him about his mama's cooking.

A swift kick to his shin brought his attention back to the present, and he narrowed a glare at Sam, the only one who was logistically able to kick him from that angle. He was about to bitch Sam out right there, when Sam shifted his eyes pointedly to somewhere behind Dean with an "oh shit, what do we do?" expression. Turning in his seat, Dean spotted the source of his brother's panic: the television behind the counter.

The morning local news was on, and sure enough, they were reporting on the "mysterious fire" that had occurred at approximately three in the morning.

"No one was injured, but the entire house was burned to the ground, and firefighters are still on the scene," the reporter was saying.

_Good to know I still got it,_ Dean thought proudly.

"Investigators _have _found evidence of an accelerant, and Lawrence residents are advised to keep their eyes open for any suspicious behavior or any unknown individuals lurking in the area. Authorities are on the lookout for…"

"Dean," John said darkly, his voice low and threatening.

Dean slowly turned away from the TV screen to see his father staring at him with an expression the likes of which hadn't been seen since the final days of Prank Wars…and what had accompanied that expression had _not_ been pretty.

_Ah, hell._

"Sir?"

"Get up now, and start walking to the door. I'll be right behind you."

Without a word, Dean hauled ass for the door, painfully aware of his father's presence behind him. As soon as they were outside, John grabbed Dean' by the arm and jerked him around, his angry gaze rooting Dean to the spot.

"What did you do?" he demanded, his eyes narrow.

_Play it off or 'fess up? _Neither option was risk-free, he knew, but they were the only ones he had, because outright lying definitely wasn't on the table

_Shit, okay—_

"I don't know what you mean," Dean told his father nonchalantly, painfully aware even as he said it that he wasn't fooling anybody and that he was about to get his ass handed to him. On a platter.

"Don't bullshit me! Start talking."

"What do you want me to tell you, Dad?" Dean said with an exasperated sigh.

_It's not like you don't already fucking know._

"I want you to tell me what the hell you were thinking!"

"Why do you just assume it was me?" Dean retorted, not even sure why he tried to pretend it wasn't.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"_Dean Winchester." _The sound of his mother's voice had Dean flinching, because even though it had been twenty years, he still recognized that particular tone._ "Stop stalling and tell your father the truth."_

_Damn._

"Look," he began, "I did what I needed to—"

"You burned the fucking house down!" John said incredulously.

The bells over the door jingled behind them as an older couple came out, and John fell silent, smiling and nodding politely as he pulled Dean out of their way.

_That's right—don't mind us. Just a friendly father-son conversation, nothing to worry about. Yeah, right. _

John watched them, his fingers tight on Dean's bicep as he waited for them to reach their car. As soon as they did, he turned back to Dean with his eyes blazing.

"Did you even _think_ about the consequences? You could've hurt someone!"

"I know how to set a damn fire," Dean said hotly.

"Setting fire to a pile of bones is vastly different than setting fire to a building, Dean," John argued.

_You'd think, but not so much. Different accelerants and different spread patterns to watch for, but a fire's a fire. 'sides, I've had practice—you just don't know it._

"Look, I know what I'm doing!"

"I don't think you do! I think, since Sam left, you've gotten reckless and stupid. And hell if I know how to rein it in! But if I have to beat your ass to get it through to you, then so be it!"

If he hadn't been so angry already, Dean might have been hurt by his father's words, but as it was, they merely fueled his rage.

"Well if I'm so fucking reckless, then why the hell do you keep leaving me in charge of the others?" Dean threw back, his tone malicious and sarcastic in spades.

"Damn it, Dean, you know I trust you to watch out for the others—but you don't do the same for yourself! You keep this shit up, and you're gonna wind up in getting into something that I can't get you out of. I'm not always gonna be there to pull your ass out of trouble. Setting the house on fire was irresponsible, nevermind dangerous-do you even realize what you've done?"

_Yeah, I burned that hellhole of a house to the ground._

But he didn't say that, opting instead to stay silent. It was easier that way, easier to mask what he was really feeling, easier to let his father believe what he wanted.

"We're strangers in town—and it was pretty obvious to everyone that the house didn't catch fire accidentally."

Dean didn't mention that he knew damn well how to set a fire that looked like an accident. He just hadn't given a shit.

"Who do you think the cops are gonna look at first, huh?" his father continued, gazing back at Dean with a pointed stare.

_A better question might be "Who the hell cares?" but that's probably not what you wanna hear._

"_Yeah, you probly don't wanna say that to your ol' man," _TK told him.

'_Yeah, I got that one,' _Dean retorted, only just managing not to roll his eyes at the obvious. No doubt his father would mistakenly think it was directed at him, and then Dean would _really_ get bitched at.

Luckily, another patron chose that moment to come out, and John dragged a hand over his beard as Dean watched wordlessly, his eyes narrow in an otherwise expressionless face.

"Go plant your ass in the car," John said lowly. "When the others get out here, head back to the motel—no detours—and start packing. We're gonna have to get the hell outta town before the cops start sniffing around."

Shaking his head in frustration, John turned and went back in, and Dean watched him for a long moment before turning on his heel and heading for the Impala. He briefly considered leaving, but just as quickly discarded the idea.

_Four people stuck in the truck with Dad—bad idea. No reason to inflict that sort of suffering on anyone, not if they don't deserve it._

* * *

It didn't take long to pack the Impala—none of them had really brought in more than their overnight bags, and after Aubrey paused long enough to grab another motel pillow for her backseat collection, they were piling back into the car. The twins decided to ride with their father, leaving just Jessica in the backseat.

Before they pulled out, John stopped by the driver's side window, tapping to get Dean's attention. With a silent sigh, Dean rolled the window down, casting only a quick glance at the older man before turning his gaze forward.

"Your mother with you?"

"Yes sir."

"She's not gonna get left behind when we skip town, is she?"

"No sir."

"So nothing's tying her to Lawrence?" he asked, leaning down to peer at Dean.

"No sir."

"She gonna stick around awhile?"

Dean shrugged. From everything she'd told him, she wasn't planning on staying around, but it was something Dean didn't really want to think about. He was working on a game-plan to keep her around.

"You stay right behind me, you hear me?"

"Yes sir."

"And watch your speed as we leave town—we can't afford any attention."

Dean nodded, shifting the car into reverse as he watched his father head back to his truck and climb in. Knowing well enough that John would want to take the lead, Dean waited for him to pull out before falling in behind the familiar black truck.

"Sam?"

"Hmm?" Sam asked absentmindedly as he perused a book he'd pulled out of his bag.

"Did Dad find what he was looking for?"

"Huh?"

"You know, the Colt? The one he abandoned Mom for because it's _so_ fucking important? Ringing any bells?"

"_Dean, your father wasn't abandoning me—"_

'_Yeah, he was—Oliver _told_ him you were there in that house! And he decided that some mythical gun was more important. So don't _tell_ me he wasn't abandoning you!'_

"_You rethink your tone when you talk to me, young man."_

Dean chose not to argue, aware from long ago childhood experience that arguing with his mother never ended well. Besides, it wasn't like there was much he could say to that. His mom obviously wasn't willing to entertain any criticism against his father.

"Dude, you're such a smartass. Why didn't you just say 'the Colt' to begin with?" Sam was saying, pulling Dean back to the present.

"Just answer the fucking question."

"The answer is no," Sam retorted. "The guy that supposedly had it said he didn't. I dunno, though—I think Dad suspects the guy's lying."

"Oh darn," Dean told him sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Man, knock it off. Don't you see? If we could find the Colt, we'd have a chance at taking out Azazel."

"It's bullshit, Sam—Dad's grasping at straws."

"Maybe, maybe not."

"C'mon, Sam! Don't tell me you're buyin' into this!"

"Seriously, with everything we've seen, all the'make-believe' shit that really exists, can you really just dismiss the Colt that easily?"

"Yes, yes, I can."

"Damn it, Dean," Sam began, his tone an indicator that he was about to launch into the lecture-mode that Dean had long ago learned to ignore.

_Okay, I fold,_ he thought, never one to stay in when Sam got all lecture-happy.

Dean had already shifted his attention to counting Toyotas when his mother's voice cut in to his train of thought.

"_Sweetheart?"_

'_Ma'am?' _

_Five, six…ooh, Camry, three o'clock—seven. _

"_I need you to call your father and ask him to stop at a rest area soon."_

'_What?' _he asked, startled out of his count. _'Why?'_

"_It's important that I talk to him, and I don't want to do it while he's driving."_

A knot of tension began to form in Dean's stomach, because it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what his mother _wasn't_ saying. She didn't want to stick around much longer.

'_Can't it wait until we stop for the night?' _he asked her, skipping the cajoling tone that he knew wouldn't work on her.

"_I'd rather not, Dean."_

"_Mom," _he began, not really sure what he was going to say, but desperately trying to figure out some way to put her off. But she cut him off sternly.

"_Dean Winchester, if you're about to try to bullshit me, think again. Now, you were saying?"_

'_Nothing,' _Dean replied with a sigh.

"_Good. Now call your father."_

"Sam," Dean said, interrupting Sam mid-lecture to shove his cell phone at his younger brother.

"Dean, were you even listening to me?"

"Dude, you sound like a fucking girl. Quit bitchin' and call Dad."

"Why?"

"Because Mom said so. Tell him we need to stop at a rest area or something…someplace private. Mom wants to talk to him."

"Shit," Sam muttered, already hitting the speed dial for their dad.

'Shit' was right. There was no way this was gonna be pretty.

* * *

Eighteen minutes, twelve Camrys, eleven Corollas, seven Highlanders, six Tacomas, four Tundras, and a bout of indigestion later, Dean followed his father onto a turn-off for a state park rest area. Sam and Jessica had kept quiet, both of them picking up on Dean's obvious need for silence.

'_So how are we gonna do this, Mom? No offense, but I don't really wanna act as a go-between for you and Dad—that'd be awkward as hell.'_

"_Your sister graciously agreed to channel me long enough for me to speak to Sam and your father. I've already spoken to Sam, but the time hasn't been right to talk to your father."_

'_When did you talk to Sammy?'_

"_After you went to sleep, but before you left to set fire to the house."_

"_So…you're, uh, not mad about that?"_

"_About you setting the house on fire? Well, I'd rather you hadn't, since it garnered unwanted attention, but…after everything that's happened in that house, it was attracting other things, evil things. It was for the best that you took care of it once and for all."_

_Oh. Wish Dad could be that practical about it._

'_So you'll be with Aub then?' _he asked, getting them back on subject.

"_Yes."_

'_But you'll be back, right?' _he asked, hating himself a little for sounding like a needy, four-year-old all over again but needing the reassurance nevertheless.

"_Yes…"_

Thing was, he could hear the unspoken "for now" hanging in the silence, and he wanted to rage at the unfairness, at the helplessness, of it all.

But he didn't.

Instead, he said nothing as he felt his mother's presence fade from his mind, and he stared down at his hands on the steering wheel.

'_TK, tell Aubrey to tell Dad—he's gotta fight for Mom to stay. Tell him not to just let her go.' _

"_You think that'll work?"_

'_Just do it! Hurry, before she starts channeling Mom!'_

"_Okay, man, just chill—I'll tell her."_

TK's presence faded then, and for a moment, the other voices swelled for a minute until Dean was able to regain control and push them back.

"Dean?"

He looked up to see Sam staring at him with worried eyes.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, 'm fine," he said, throwing open the car door and climbing out to stretch. Behind him, Sam muttered, "Why don't I believe you?" But Dean just did what he usually did when Sam muttered annoying things under his breath and ignored him. Shutting the door behind him, he saw his sister suddenly stiffen where she sat on a picnic table about thirty feet away. She stood then and moved purposefully toward their father, who was inspecting the engine of the GMC with a critical eye.

As Dean watched, Aubrey stepped up beside him, reaching a hand out to lay on his back. She said something then that Dean didn't catch, and their father stilled, slowly nodding before taking her outstretched hand and following her onto a trail leading into the woods.

"Is that—" Sam began, and Dean nodded.

"Yeah."

"What do you think she's gonna tell him?"

"How the fuck should I know?"

_Probably goodbye._

"_Yo, man, you want me to check it out, see what your moms is tellin' your old man?"_

'_No.'_

"_You sure?"_

'_Yeah. Did you tell Aubrey what I said?'_

"_You told me to, didn't you? She said she'd tell him."_

"You think Dad'll be okay when he comes back?" Sam was asking.

"Yeah."

_So long as he holds up his end of the deal and convinces her to stay._

* * *

Time ticked by, and the cold of the Midwest in autumn began to settle in. Boredom had settled in along with it, at least for Braden, Sam, and Jessica. Braden had taken to drawing devil's traps in the dirt, while Jessica and Sam dug out a deck of cards from the backseat of the Impala and began a round of Rummy, one of the few games of chance Sam had a chance in hell of winning. They'd offered to deal Dean in, but he'd declined, too wound up to sit down and gamble on a game that fucking easy. He might have welcomed a chance to play something a little more challenging, but Sam was shit at Texas Hold 'Em, and Jessica wasn't any better.

Besides, he had a greater stake in what was happening with his parents. Too distracted by the yawning absence of his mother in his mind while she was with his dad, he couldn't focus on anything else. And So, he paced, back and forth, wearing a path in the dirt with every pass.

"_Man, you gotta relax. Things get hairy in here when you get all tense and shit," _TK told him. _For real, your brain is fucking loud, bro._

'_Can you just keep 'em off my back? I can't deal with 'em right now,' _Dean replied, trying to keep the weariness from filtering into his voice. The post-concussion headache was beginning to make itself known again, the aspirin having worn off, and he rubbed at his temple, wincing when his hand accidentally brushed the bruise Braden had left there.

"_If you can keep your cool, I can help. But you're looking a little rough around the edges, though…maybe you should crash for awhile. That huge-ass car of yours has a pretty wide backseat, you know."_

'_After Mom's back.'_

"_You are one stubborn son of a bitch, you know that?"_

'_Yeah, family trait.'_

"_You know your mama ain't gonna leave you without saying goodbye first—you could—"_

'_Don't,' _Dean told him coldly, unwilling to even entertain the thought of his mother leaving. _'She's not leaving_,' he announced. _'She's gonna stay.'_

_She has to. _

'_TK, when Mom gets back, you gotta hold off the others while I talk to her—it's too hard to focus when the others start breaking through. Just keep 'em off me until we talk Mom into staying.'_

"_You really think it's gonna work? 'Cause I don't know, man…seems like you're betting against the house."_

'_Look, are you with me or not?' _Dean demanded, and with an audible sigh, TK capitulated, murmuring an _"I'll do what I can"_ before silently retreating.

Just then, John stepped out of the woods, Aubrey holding onto his arm as she stumbled alongside him.

Dean stopped moving, his eyes searching his father's face for a hint of what had gone down. And it wasthere, evident in his father's red-rimmed eyes and bowed head, a sense of resignation and sadness.

And it scared him.

_If Dad gives in, if he lets her go, then what does that mean for me? _

The deck, he knew, was stacked against him, and the odds weren't getting any better.

"_Dean_._"_ His mother's voice filled him, and right on its heels was a sense of dread._ "Sweetheart, it's time for me to go."_

'_It doesn't have to be—you could stay.' _

"_Oh, baby, I don't belong here," _she told him softly. _"It's not good to linger. You've seen what happens when a spirit doesn't move on."_

And he could hear it in her voice that she wasn't going for it.

'_But it won't be like that for you," _he told her, laying all his cards out on the table. _"They only go rabid because nobody can see or hear them! But _I_ can hear you, Mom! And so can Aubrey! And I know it's not the same as having a body of your own, but Aub and I could channel for you whenever you wanted. I mean, I haven't tried that channeling shit before, and it might be a little awkward at first, but it'd work, I know it,'_ he told her, trying to push back the growing desperation he was feeling as the pain in his head began to mount and the others began trying to encroach on his weakening shields.

"Dean?" he distantly heard his father say, threatening his shields even further as his focus wavered.

"What's with him?" Braden asked, sounding curious more than concerned.

"I think he's talking to Mama Mary now," Aubrey murmured.

"Shut-up!" Dean yelled at them, struggling to hear his mother's voice against the others all clamoring for his attention. _Why doesn't the amulet fucking work—isn't it supposed to block this shit?_

"_Your emotions are interfering—you're all worked up and shit," _TK told him, but Dean ignored him, knowing there was little he could do when he was struggling to talk to his mother.

"_I know it's not what you want, love, but I have to go," _she told him, her voice pushing the others back, at least for the moment.

'_Why? You've stuck around this long—why go now?"_

"_Dean, I stayed because I had unfinished business—I wanted to see you, Sammy, and your father one last time, and there were things I needed to say. I've gotten my chance to do that."_

'_Please, I just got you back—I don't wanna lose you again.'_

"_You're not losing me—I will _always _be with you."_

'_That's bullshit and you know it! That's what people always say, and it's a lie—it doesn't mean a damn thing!'_

"_Sweetheart, I know it's hard. But you'll understand one day."_

'_Like I understood when I was four? You were gone then, too—you were gone_,_ and I was alone!' _

"_I know—and I'm sorry. I never wanted this for you," _she said softly_. "Before I go, I want you to know how proud I am of you, of how you've taken care of everyone. You've grown into a man any mother would be proud to call her son."_

"No! I don't wanna fucking hear it!" Dean yelled, his control snapping.

"Dean?" his father asked, startling Dean with how close he'd come in what seemed like only a minute, even as he came towards him with a concerned expression. Backing away, Dean shook his head, fighting the growing rage and the murmur of voices starting to encroach once more on his headspace.

"_Baby, try to calm down—your shields are going to snap under the pressure."_

"I don't care!"

"Dean, you okay?" Sam asked, dropping his cards onto the table and coming to his feet. But Dean ignored him, his entire being focused inward.

"_Dean, you need to accept this. This is how it has to be," _she told him softly.

"Please," he said, his anger forgotten as quickly as it had come, replaced by a pain so acute, so deep, that he wasn't sure how to contain it. "Don't go. Stay," he bit out, only barely able to get the words out as his throat tightened and he fought back tears with everything he had. "Please, Mom."

"_I love you," _she told him vehemently. _"With all my heart. Don't you ever forget that," _she murmured, and with what felt like a gentle caress on his cheek, he felt his mother's presence slip away, this time, he knew, for good.

"No," he choked out, dropping to his knees as pain, both physical and emotional, slammed into him until he couldn't seem to escape it all. _It's happening again_, he thought, his tear-filled eyes staring blankly at the ground as his father knelt beside him, wrapping his arms around him.

"I'm sorry, son."

And that quickly, fury merged with grief, and with a roar of outrage, he shoved John away and lurched to his feet.

"Dean?" Sam asked, starting forward, but Dean was already moving, desperate to get away.

He'd lost everything, and it was time to tap-out.

* * *

A/N: As always, it's so great to hear from all of you—I love to read your reactions, what you liked best, and what you think/hope will happen next. Thanks so much for all of your support, everyone!

**kasey123**: Okay, so this was more Dean and Mary than Dean and John, but it's looking like the next chapter _may_ be John-centric, which would give you the Dean and John interaction you're hoping for. We'll see. Thanks for reviewing.

**zuimar**: Yes, my wedding day was very nice, and I definitely have some great memories to look back on. And look! I updated! For the first time in ages, I've gotten a new chapter posted in less than a month!

**TheWater'sChild**: So what about this one? Did I evoke tears with this one? Honestly, I got myself a little teary on this one, which isn't something I do often. I left out the John and Mary talk, but if I go with a John-centric Chapter 48, then it may emerge as a flashback-y sort of thing. We'll see.

**fanficjunkiecjp**: I love hearing from new fans, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story! I sometimes have to read back over the story to check for continuity, but then I get impatient because it takes too long. So bless you for rereading all of that! Anyways, thanks for the review!

**7kstar**: Well, I got you the quicker update! Hope you enjoyed it! Granted, Mary's gone again, but at least Braden is consistently quirky in his reactions. A friend of mine thinks he displays characteristics of autism…I haven't argued one way or another—I just write what fits him…anyways, expect more emotional upheaval. Thanks for reviewing, and being so patient!

**cab60**: Thanks! My husband betas for me now, so it speeds things up significantly that I no longer have to email it to someone and wait. He reads chapters over about as soon as I finish writing them! Anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter—thanks for reviewing!

**Isolda**: You're welcome! Yeah, I have no plans to leave this one unfinished. It might take me awhile, but I have every intention of finishing. Thanks for the review!

**Aj295**: It _was _an amazing day! My teaching load is a bit lighter this summer, so in theory, I can get quicker updates posted. I'm trying, anyway. I'm glad you like Braden—his quirks are what make him fun, in my opinion. Thanks for sending a review!

**ohgravitysonfire**: Well, lucky for you, Jess isn't going anywhere—I like her too much to get rid of her. While she doesn't get much in the way of Jess-centric chapters, I try to tie her in wherever I can. Not only do I think she's perfect for Sam, but I also think she's a perfect sister-in-law for the others (daughter-in-law for John). Anyways, hope you liked the chapter—let me know what you think! Thanks for reviewing!

**I'mcalledZorro**: Yeah, things got crazy for awhile there, but life is slowly beginning to settle back down. I'm hoping that I'll be able to do faster updates now. In regard to Jessica, I'm working very hard on finding a niche for her in the family—I want her to be more than just arm-candy for Sam, but I don't want her to be a Mary Sue, either. Sigh. It's an ongoing process. Thanks for reviewing!

**ptbaym10**: So what did you think of the chapter? You said you had a feeling that something bad was going to happen…did the chapter live up to your expectations? Thanks for dropping me a line!

**WastedJamie**: So the fireworks you expected when John discovered the arson was a bit downplayed…I'm trying to decide if I'll come back to it later. But I think the angst and anger level was still met, and it's likely to be present in the next chapter as well, so I'm thinking it worked. I substituted John-Dean issues for Mary-Dean issues—what did you think?


	48. Winchester Family Tête à Têtes

A/N: At last! Here it is!

Chapter 48: Winchester Family Tête-à-Têtes

Aubrey knew it was bad when Dean started talking to his mother out loud, his desperate choked-out pleas heartbreaking. But when he took off running, she knew that things had just gone from bad to totally messed up.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, even as Aubrey's heart sank.

"Damn it! Stay here!" their father yelled, taking off in pursuit while Sam stood there with a stunned expression.

"Is he serious?" Sam asked, whirling around to stare at them incredulously. "Does he really expect us to just sit here and not do anything?"

Aubrey shared a look with Braden before he shifted at the table, obviously settling in as Aubrey slid closer.

"Yep," Braden told him as he turned to lean back against the table, his legs stretched out in front of him.

"Wait, where are you going?" Sam asked incredulously. "We need to help Dad catch Dean."

"D's fast, Sam," Aubrey told him. "We don't have a chance of catching him. I mean, _you_ might, since you've got long legs and you're pretty quick, but me and Bray don't. We'd be wasting our time."

"Besides, he'll circle back eventually," Braden said calmly. "Car's still here."

Sam sighed, obviously conceding the point, and without another word, he plopped back down at the table beside Jessica.

"You guys gonna ride with us or with Dad?" he asked.

"Um…" Aubrey cast a glance at their father's truck before looking back at Sam. "We'll ride with ya'll. After everything with Mama Mary…well, it'd prob'ly be a little awkward bein' stuck in the car with Daddy."

"Wait, what?"

"Well, you know, he was kinda upset when she was talking to him, and well…it's just awkward, you know?"

"So, let me get this straight—you were _aware_ while Mom was talking to Dad?"

"Um…yeah," Aubrey murmured, mentally kicking herself for spilling the beans on that one.

"So you heard everything she told _me_, too," he said, his tone already enough to tell Aubrey he was inching towards pissed off.

"Mmm-hmm."

"Fuck!" Sam barked, running his hand through his hair in frustration, and Aubrey winced.

"Look, I'm sorry—it's not like I _wanted_ to listen or anything. But I can't exactly leave the room, now, can I?"

"Did you tell anyone what she said to me?"

"Just Bray."

"Dammit, Aubrey!" Sam yelled, casting a heated glare at her that had her bristling.

"Hello?! He's my _twin_, Sam," she retorted. "We shared a _womb_ for nine months—sharing secrets is kinda small change," she told him snarkily.

"Yeah, well, _I _didn't share a womb with Braden, and I don't exactly want everyone knowing—"

"What? That your mom loved Daddy enough to make a deal with a demon to save him? That she accidentally caused a bunch of bad juju to come down on you because of it? You haven't done anything wrong, Sam—why do you care if anybody knows?"

"Because I—just forget it," Sam said angrily, obviously no longer wanting to discuss it, which sucked because Aubrey honestly couldn't figure out why he was upset.

"Sam," Braden began, quirking an eyebrow at their older brother, "You're wigging out on us because we know some big, bad secret about you. But honestly…we're family—we know _a shitload_ of secrets about you. And nobody gives a rat's ass. So, if you're done being a big girl about all of this, can we move on now?"

For a long moment, no one spoke, but just before the silence became awkward, Jessica let loose a decidedly unladylike snort, which quickly turned into outright laughter. The tension eased, Aubrey found herself more and more grateful that Jessica was with them now.

_I hope she stays…things aren't as bad now. _She'd bet that it would take Sam another two months to propose…but Jessica didn't have to say yes when he did. And that was the problem.

"Right, okay," Braden continued. "So if we're gonna be here awhile, Aubby, how about you fill us in on what happened between Dad and Mama Mary."

"No, wait," Sam interjected. "I've got a better idea—do you think you could use the spirits to find out what's happening with Dean?"

"Well, I can't just reach out and talk to TK—I hafta wait for him to come to me. He usually doesn't though, unless D blocks him out."

"So you can't piggyback on one of the spirits that stick with Dean?"

_Huh. 's a good question…I've never actually tried…_

'_Harold, is that possible? Can I piggyback on one of the spirits the way Mama Mary piggybacked on Dean?'_

"_I think what you're talking about is closer to astral projection than clairaudience, Aubrey. You'd be channeling your consciousness through another—you'd essentially be leaving your body behind and casting your spirit outward. Unless you've been trained properly, I wouldn't risk it. Bad things could happen."_

'_Darn it.'_

"_It's certainly something you may want to talk to Missouri about, though—it could be useful if you knew how to do it."_

'_Too bad that won't help me now, though.'_

"Aubrey?" Sam was asking, raising his voice as he struggled to get her attention. "Aubrey!"

"Yeah, I'm here—I was talkin' to Harold. Sorry."

"So can you or not?"

"Not…Harold says that's astral projection, and it's dangerous to do it without training."

"Dammit."

"Wasn't a good idea, anyway," Braden stated. "D would be beyond pissed if he found out that you'd been spying on him through the spirits."

_Good point._

"Well what about the stuff with Mom and Dad? What'd you get from that?"

"Sam…it's pretty private," she said slowly. "I don't think I wanna talk about it."

The truth was, it was more than just private; it was painful. She'd never seen her father cry before, and seeing it when he told the love of his life goodbye was enough to make her heart clench. Shoot, even the memory of it hurt.

"_Daddy, before I let Mama Mary talk to you…D wanted me to tell you to convince her to stay."_

"_She's wantin' to leave, then?"_

"_Yessir. She wanted to talk to you and D and Sam first. She already talked to Sam, and now it's your turn."_

"_She talked to Dean yet?"_

"_No sir. I think she knows he's gonna be the hardest one…"_

"_Okay, well…I'll do what I can, but…if she's determined to go, there's not a whole helluva lot I can do to convince her otherwise. Much as I might want to."_

"_Just try, Daddy—otherwise, D will never forgive you."_

"_Alright, well, how does this work?"_

_Aubrey felt a gentle shove in her mind and that quickly, she wasn't in charge anymore._

"_Hello, John," she heard her mouth say, though she could honestly say that it definitely wasn't her voice. She'd never had a Midwestern accent in her life._

"_Mary?"_

"_Yes. It's good to see you again," she said warmly._

"_I've missed you," he said, and Aubrey could hear his pain in the husky quality that he got in his voice when things got too emotional for his comfort._

"_I've missed you, too, love."_

"_Aubrey says you're ready to move on."_

"_Yes, after I talk to you and Dean, I'll be ready."_

"_I wish you'd stay. We need you here. _I _need you here."_

"_John, you don't need me—" she began, but he cut her off._

"_The hell I don't. Mary, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, half the time," he admitted. "I messed things up with our boys—I mean, look at us! Dean doesn't have a damn clue how to cope when things get hard, Sam and I tear into each other on a daily basis, and now I have the twins…it's only a matter of time before I screw that up, too."_

"_Sweetheart, you've done the best you could. You and Sam are two peas in a pod—you two would have butted heads regardless of whether I was around. As for Dean…he was so young when I died, and you were hurting, too. He may struggle sometimes, but he's always known that you love him."_

"_Yeah, but I don't tell him enough. I'm too fucking hard on him, and I lose my temper—I know I hurt him."_

"_Then do better, John," she told him in a no-nonsense tone. _

"_I'd do better if you stayed with us, called me on my bullshit."_

"_I can't, love. You know as well as I do that the dead shouldn't linger."_

"_About that…why didn't you ever tell me that you were a hunter?"_

"_I left all that behind when my parents died. I didn't want to hunt anymore. Hunting attracts all kinds of evil, and I didn't want our children exposed to it."_

"_Yeah, too bad I went and pulled 'em into it anyway."_

"_You did what you had to do to keep them safe. The demon isn't going away, John—he'll be back. And if you hadn't raised the boys the way you did, Sam probably wouldn't be alive. I'm sorry, though, that I kept all of it from you. It may have made things easier for you."_

"_Sometimes, I wish I'd done things differently, though. I wish they could've lived normal lives." _

"_Of course you do. So do I. But we play the hand we've been dealt, John. Just keep doing what you're doing to keep them alive and well." _

"_Yeah, I've kept them alive, but I don't know about 'well.' I don't know what the fuck I'm doing half the time, and they suffer for it. Hell, Dean's so fucked up now that—"_

"_Stop. You love those children more than anything, I know you do. You're a good father—don't you ever doubt that." _

"_But I—"_

"_Dean's more sensitive than he cares to let on. The problem is he plays everything close to the chest and doesn't tell anyone. He gets that from you, but whereas _you_ handle it, _he_ bottles it up until he blows. You need to encourage him to talk more about his feelings instead of letting him pretend he's fine all the time. Too many things get thrown because he won't talk to anyone. And don't let him convince you that you're 'being girls' if you actually talk to each other—he's ridiculous about that. He's under a lot of pressure to take care of things—but remember, he's our son. You let him take too much responsibility, and he never complains, but it's going to create a rift if you don't do something. He's the oldest, but you're still their father. As for Sam…his temper is as bad as yours is, so you've got to be the bigger man and rein it in. Quit egging him on, do you hear me?"_

"_Yeah, I hear you," he said, tears falling down his face as she tried to cram twenty years worth of parenting lessons into two minutes. _

"_He's got a smart mouth on him—he gets that from me—but despite that, he tries very hard to please you. He just gets lost in the shuffle sometimes. And while Dean knows that you love him by your _actions_, Sam needs to hear the words, so tell him every once in awhile, okay?"_

_John nodded, trying too hard to choke back his emotions to speak, and Mary continued. _

"_And he's not a child anymore, so try talking to him about things instead of trying to keep it from him the way you did when he was little. You're too secretive, John, and it's hurting your relationship with the boys. They need to be kept in the loop, especially since so much of this involves them now, too."_

"_I'll try," he murmured, and Aubrey wanted nothing more than to be far away right then. Watching her father cry was about the worst thing ever, and if she'd had control of her body, she knew she'd probably have been crying herself._

"_As for the twins…they're not mine, but they're just as much a part of this family as the boys are. Try to learn from the mistakes you've made with the boys so that you do better with them. Spend time with them, too. And for goodness' sake, John, quit being a 'girl' and let Aubrey talk to you about girly things from time to time. It won't kill you to listen to her talk about a cute boy or a hairstyle she likes. If Dean can do it, you can suck it up and do it, too."_

"_I will," he promised, and Aubrey couldn't decide if she should cry or laugh at that. "But, listen, about the twins…I…"_

"_John, you don't have to explain anything—you didn't cheat on me. You had every right to find someone who made you happy—you still do. I did wonder, though—the twins' mother, where is she?"_

"_Killed by a demon when the twins were eight. That's when I found out about them—Aubrey called me that day."_

_No, Daddy, don't talk about that. I don't want you to talk about that._

"_I'm sorry, John."_

"_Yeah, Aubrey still has a hard time with it. 's why I need you, so you can help me. I don't have a damn clue how to raise a girl."_

"_You're doing fine. She's a lovely young lady. Besides, you have Jessica now, and she can help."_

"_Yeah, but I'd rather have you," he told her, his voice tight with barely suppressed emotion. _

"_You'll be fine, John," she said gently._

"_I've never loved anyone the way I've loved you, Mary—I'm nothing without you." _

"_I love you, too—I always have, and I always will."_

"_Then stay," he choked out, tears beginning to spill from his eyes. "Please, Mary, don't go."_

"_It's my time," she said gently. "I want you to be okay with this. Please, love, let me go."_

"_God, I don't want to lose you again. Being alone is too hard."_

"_I know it is, John—I know more than you could ever imagine. But it's not forever—I'll see you again one day. Until then, look after our children, and take care of yourself."_

"_I love you," he told her, trying to stop the flow of tears from his eyes._

"_I love you, too, Johnny, and I'll wait for you on the other side."_

A moment later, Aubrey had felt Mary's presence retreat, and she was left staring at her father, whose face spoke volumes about how much he was hurting. She'd hugged him, and he'd gripped her tightly as he struggled to get a hold of himself. Aubrey had only barely managed to hide her own tears, lucky that her dad had been too distracted to notice. And by the time they returned to the others, Mary had already started talking to Dean, so the moment had passed.

"You okay?"

The sound of Braden's familiar voice broke into her reverie, and she blinked, only just then noticing him staring at her quizzically.

"Oh…yeah, sorry. I was distracted."

"Talking to the dead again?"

"Nope, just thinking."

"Oh. You wanna play Texas Hold 'Em?"

"Bray, we're waiting for Daddy and D to come back," she admonished, shaking her head at him.

"Yeeeaaaah, that's why I wanna play cards. I'm bored."

"Why don't you just play Solitaire then?"

"Cause it's not as fun. Solitaire's for losers."

"Well, why don't you ask Jessica and Sam?"

"Nah, they're too busy bein' all 'couple-like'—all, 'I love you,' 'no, I love you more' and shit. 's annoying. 'sides, Sam won't play 'cause he says I count cards."

"Well don't you?"

"Sometimes," he said with a shrug. "If Sam were any good, he'd be able to compensate for that, though. So will you?"

"Can we play later? I don't really feel like it right now."

"Why not?"

"I'm tired. Channeling's hard. Which, if you think about it, doesn't make a whole lotta sense. I mean, I'm just taking a backseat to a spirit for awhile—it's not like I'm doing anything."

"Oh. It's not like that with me and Oliver. When he takes over, I mostly don't know anything's happening—'s like I'm asleep."

"Lucky you."

It only took about five minutes for Braden to pull out his skateboard and start doing random skateboard tricks on the picnic table.

"Bray, quit it—you're gonna get hurt," Sam told him, his classic lecture face in place.

"No, I'm not," Braden retorted, not deigning to even look at Sam as he focused on balancing the skateboard on the edge of the table.

"Yes, you—"

"Dude, seriously? You're not Dad, you're not Dean, and I've been doing this shit for awhile. Stow the lecture, will ya?"

"You're such a dick sometimes," Sam told him, rolling his eyes as he shook his head angrily.

"Yeah, well, you're an asshole sometimes," Braden replied, doing one of those cool board jumps that Aubrey liked.

Eventually, Braden grew bored with the lack of decent ground to skateboard on and finally threw in the towel. Aubrey secretly thought that he'd only done it as long as he had because it irritated Sam.

The wind picked up before long, the chilly gusts enough to cut right through the jacket she was wearing, and without further ado, she retreated to the car, grabbing one of her blankets from the floorboard to wrap up in.

"Sam, can you turn the car on, so I can have some heat?"

"Aub, it's not _that_ cold," Sam told her as she started to close the door.

"Yes it is, and I don't like being cold. So will you?"

"It wastes gas, Aubrey. Just use the blanket—you'll be okay."

_Darn it,_ she thought as she tried to arrange blankets and pillows for maximum warmth.

The door opposite her suddenly opened, and Aubrey looked up to see Jessica sliding in beside her.

"I don't like being cold either," she told Aubrey with a sheepish smile. With a smile of her own, Aubrey slid over and the two of them huddled under the blankets. Braden joined them about five minutes later, wordlessly pushing them over so he could slip under the blankets, too. He wasn't cold, Aubrey knew, but Sam obviously wasn't willing to appease him by playing card games, which left him nothing else to do but join them.

She couldn't say how long they were there before she drifted to sleep, slumping against Braden's side as exhaustion swept over her.

The next thing she knew, Sam was getting in the driver's seat, shoving the key into the ignition.

"What happened?" she asked groggily. "Are Daddy and D back?"

"Yeah," Jessica murmured.

"What's going on?" she asked as Sam put the car into reverse and pulled out of the park. "Is D okay?"

"Well…I don't know him as well as you do, obviously, but…" she trailed off, and Aubrey looked worriedly at Sam, alarmed by the tautness of his features.

"D looks wrecked," Braden replied, his voice subdued as he filled in the blank for Jessica. And that's when Aubrey knew things had gotten _bad. _Because when _Braden_ sounded worried, things had to have gone to absolute hell in a hand-basket.

"How bad is it, Sam?"

"I dunno. Dad got him into the truck before I could see, but…Braden's right. He just looked broken."

"You think he'll be okay?"

"I hope so."

The remainder of the ride was quiet, everyone painfully aware of what they weren't saying—what would they do if Dean couldn't pull himself together?

* * *

The others were right, Aubrey decided after they checked in to a motel early that evening. Dean, she could tell, was only barely functional. Oh sure, he was moving, but he was only going through the motions. His eyes had a vacant expression that was more than enough to tell her that he was walling himself off from everything.

'Dissociation,' Sam said it was called. 'Fucked up' is what Braden called it.

"Sam, you keep your eye on him, alright?" she heard their dad murmur after Dean had robotically gathered his clothing and disappeared into the bathroom. "I don't like where his head is at."

"Did he say anything after we left the park?" Sam asked, glancing after Dean only to frown.

"Not a damn word. Hell, I can't even get a fucking _reaction_. Maybe you can get something out of him—you were always better with him when he's like this than I am."

"Yeah, but…I don't think it's ever been this bad before. I thought he'd grown out of it."

"Seriously?" Braden interjected. "What _planet_ do you live on?" he asked incredulously.

"Don't be an asshole, Braden," Sam retorted. "It's perfectly logical to assume a twenty-four-year-old would've grown out of selective mutism by now."

"An _emotionally healthy_ twenty-four-year-old, sure. But when have any of us ever been that?"

"He went quiet right after you left," Aubrey told Sam quietly. "It took a long time to get him out of it."

"And he compensated by staying pissed off and breaking stuff most of the time," Braden finished. "We have you to thank for that—we lost a lot of our good stuff."

"Alright, you two, knock it off," John ordered, rescuing Sam from no doubt attempting to defend his actions in light of the revelation. "It's been a long day, and we all need some sleep. Twins, you're with me. Sam, keep the door unlocked," he said, pointing towards the connecting door that linked the two rooms. "And all of you stay put—no midnight trips, you hear me?"

"Yessir."

"Jessica, if things are calm tomorrow, we'll go shoot after breakfast, alright?"

"Okay," she told him with a soft smile.

"Aubrey, Braden, let's go," John said, and Aubrey stood, following her brother towards the other room.

"Night, Sam," she said, pausing to hug him, even as Braden continued with only a backwards wave at his older brother.

"Night, Aub," Sam replied, hugging her back before releasing her and heading for his duffel. Biting her lip, Aubrey turned to Jessica. "Night, Jess." Before she lost her nerve, she gave Jessica a swift hug, too, hurrying towards the other room in case the gesture was rebuffed.

_Maybe she doesn't think of me as family like that…maybe I should've asked first…but she's been with us awhile, and really, it's just a hug, so she probably wouldn't care…except some people are weird about that sorta thing. Maybe Jess is one of those people that doesn't like to be touched, except if that was the case, how would she and Sam—eww, gross! Nevermind._

"Good night, Aubrey," Jessica called after her, interrupting her train of thought, and Aubrey looked back to see Jessica waving back at her.

_Not being the only girl in the family would be kinda nice, and Jess is pretty awesome. Sam needs to hurry up and make it official. _

It might be time to put a bee in his bonnet about it, she decided as she followed Braden and their dad to the adjoining room.

_Yeah, Sam thinks too much. He needs to just go ahead and ask her already. And then, maybe we can start putting our family back together._

* * *

Unfortunately, things had not improved the next morning.

_So much for a happy birthday._

Of course, it didn't seem like anyone even remembered that it was the twins' fifteenth birthday, and it was a little depressing.

'_s not fair to be upset about it, I guess, not when we've got so many problems, but still…_

She'd learned a long time ago that it wasn't unusual for a birthday to be pushed aside for more important concerns, but it never got easier. She still remembered birthday parties with cake, ice cream, balloons, and those dorky pointy party hats that her mama had insisted on buying, hats that Aubrey had secretly loved despite her token protests to the contrary. Of course, the presents were the icing on the cake, so to speak, and they were what she missed the most, besides her mother, of course. Oh sure, her brothers and father tried (usually), but mostly they were hit-or-miss when it came to gift-giving. Nothing more had been said about straightening her hair, which Aubrey figured meant it was a no-go, but that was mostly okay, she decided. She didn't want to straighten it anymore, anyways.

"Dad, can we look for a hunt somewhere cold?" Braden asked suddenly, breaking the awkward silence as he shoveled a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. "Like with mountains?"

"I don't know. Why?" John asked him, taking a sip of his coffee as he quirked an eyebrow at his youngest son.

"No reason," Braden said with a shrug. "Change of scenery might be nice, that's all."

"Mountains are cold—no way," Aubrey said, angling a scowl at her twin, even as their father frowned.

"So we'll get you a bigger coat," Braden retorted.

"Not good enough. It's cold enough as it is—even with a bigger coat, going anywhere colder is out of the question. We need to go south, or at least stay in the Midwest."

"It's almost winter—just about everywhere we go in the Midwest is gonna be just as cold."

"Dude, seriously? The Midwest is _flat_, Braden. The mountains are way colder, and you know it. You know, I hear Florida's nice this time of year—why not go there?"

"Florida? Seriously? That's lame. We'd be lucky to find a woman in white there. 's not even a challenge."

"You two knock it off. It's a moot point—we go where the hunts are. If there's a hunt in the mountains, that's where we'll go."

Aubrey narrowed her eyes, waiting for their dad to look away before catching Braden's eye.

"_What the crap?!"_ she asked with her eyes.

"_Snowboarding,"_ he mouthed back at her, grinning back at her suddenly, and Aubrey rolled her eyes, praying fervently that she wasn't going to wind up freezing her butt off in the Rockies because her brother wanted to try his hand at winter sports.

The painful silence descended once more, everyone excruciatingly aware of Dean's regression, and Aubrey hated it. She'd never exactly been comfortable with silence, but when it was Dean, it was worse. To her, Dean was awesome and brave and couldn't be beat. When he retreated into himself, though, Aubrey couldn't pretend anymore. Her big brother was just as vulnerable as the rest of them. And it was scary.

So Aubrey did what any self-respecting Winchester would do: _Winchester Avoidance Tactic #3: Divert attention from the matter at hand by creating chaos._

"So, Sam when are you gonna ask Jessica to marry you?" she asked, forking another bite of pancakes as she quirked an eyebrow at her older brother.

"Uh..well…I…." Sam sputtered, obviously caught off guard, though Aubrey couldn't understand why.

_Seriously, how did he not see that coming? We've only been waiting for…how long has it been now? Well, awhile at least. Gotta be a month now…_

"Aubrey, that's between Sam and Jessica," John told her sternly, coming to Sam's rescue. "'s none of your business."

"But it is! She'll be part of the family, and sooner is way better than later—I'm ready to not be the only girl in the family."

"Aubrey—"

"I was just—"

"Putting your brother on the spot," John finished. "Now, if or when the two of them decide to marry, I'm sure they'll let us know. Until then, stay out of it."

"But I—"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"_Better let it go,"_ Harold whispered in her mind, and Aubrey wholeheartedly but grudgingly agreed. Past experience had taught her long ago not to push it when her father used that particular tone.

"Yessir," she mumbled, letting her fork clatter as she dropped it on her plate. Without thinking, she pushed her plate towards Dean, the typical destination for her leftovers. He didn't appear to notice however, his gaze remaining on his own plate, which still had quite a bit of food on it. Aubrey frowned, reminded once more of how just not-right things really were.

"I don't have a ring yet," Sam said softly, and Aubrey froze, looking up to see if she'd heard right. Sam was toying with his fork, his gaze locked on his own plate, too, as Jessica stared back at him with sheer, unadulterated joy on her face.

"Sam?" Jessica murmured, and Sam looked up, a hesitant expression on his face that Aubrey had only rarely seen on Sam's face.

"I wanted Dean to go with me to pick it out," he explained, "but the timing hasn't been right, you know, since so much has been going on…so, um…yeah. But as soon as I get one, I swear, I'll—"

With a burst of laughter, Jessica threw her arms around Sam's neck, and he grinned suddenly, his face flushing a bit.

"So does that mean you'll say yes?"

"Yes! A thousand times, yes!" she told him, and Aubrey gave herself a mental pat on the back.

_Not what I expected to happen, but I'll take it. And maybe Dean'll snap out of it…_

"Damn. Does this mean I lost the bet?" Braden asked, and Aubrey smiled, shrugging.

"Looks like."

"Nah," Braden decided. "No ring, yet, so it doesn't count. I'm still in."

John shook his head ruefully before reaching for the coffee pot on the table and pouring a refill.

Aubrey looked at Dean, hoping to see some sort of reaction from him, but was disheartened to see her oldest brother had yet to respond in any way. In fact, he didn't appear to even have heard the news. Of course, she knew well enough that a lack of reaction didn't necessarily equate to a lack of emotion. After all, Dean was an expert at masking emotion…still, she'd honestly thought that Sam's announcement would elicit _some_ sort of reaction.

But Dean simply continued to pick at his breakfast, his eyes dull and his face expressionless. Sam glanced over at Dean, too, his face falling a bit as he noticed the same thing Aubrey had.

And since Dean's mood was usually the determining factor for the disposition of the rest of the family, the remainder of breakfast was finished in an awkward silence.

Some things never changed.

* * *

"Sam, I want all of you to head back to Bobby's."

Aubrey surreptitiously glanced over at where their dad was talking to Sam as he repacked his duffle. She eased a bit closer so she could hear better, pretending to be preoccupied with her own bag.

"Wait, you want us to split up again? Dad, that _never_ works out well! I mean—"

"Your brother needs some time," John interrupted. "He's hurting, and I can't help him—he's locking me out. 'sides, you were always better with him than me. If anybody stands a chance of getting through to him, it's you. In the meantime, Bobby's is the best place for him, and I need you to get everyone there. I'm counting on you to take care of everyone—can you handle that?"

"Yessir," Sam murmured. "Where will _you_ be?"

"Doing something I _can_ do—I'm heading back to Manning for the Colt. I know it's there, Sam, and if we stand a chance of beating Azazel, we need that gun. Aubrey."

Startled, Aubrey looked up to see her father staring back at her knowingly.

"Quit eavesdropping and get over here."

Meekly, Aubrey headed over, annoyed with herself for getting caught even while she admired her father's ability to catch her in the act when he seemed otherwise preoccupied.

He dropped his duffel by the door and reached for the wallet he carried in his back pocket as she neared.

"Listen, it's not much but…it's the best I can do for now," he said, handing her two twenty-dollar bills.

"Well, I was sorta hoping for a car," she said, pocketing the money carefully.

"Dream on," Sam called over his shoulder. "I didn't get a car when I turned fifteen, so I'd say the odds are good you won't either."

"Yeah, but you were a piss-ant when you were fifteen, and you pissed Daddy off all the time. I'm the good one—I deserve a car."

"You don't even have a license—I'm next in line if Dad's giving out cars."

"No one's getting a car," John announced, bringing a halt to what would have likely gone on for awhile.

"Well do we at least get birthday pie? We like pie."

"Pie, I can do. We'll celebrate after things calm down, alright?"

"Sure."

_But I still want a car. Or a dog. A dog runs a close second. _She'd have to talk with Dean when things got better…

He knew how to make things happen.

* * *

As they drove down the interstate, it was clear that they were all trying desperately to make things seem normal as possible. Cue Winchester Avoidance Tactic #1: Pretend nothing's wrong.

She and Braden had opted to ride in the Impala again, neither one of them eager to listen to their father's music. So they were sitting in the back seat with Jessica, Braden already out cold, courtesy of his Dramamine. Jessica had fallen asleep, too, no doubt drained from the day-to-day toil of living with Winchesters. Sam was driving, so the music was at a reasonable volume rather than the deafening tones that their oldest brother so often favored. As for Dean, he was settled in the passenger's seat, his face expressionless as he gazed out the window. Aubrey had grown bored about seventy-five or so miles ago, and she'd finally settled back in an attempt to take a nap herself. Unfortunately, all she'd managed so far was to get a crick in her neck as she stared at the back of her eyelids.

_This totally sucks out loud._

"You okay?"

Hearing Sam's murmured question, Aubrey ever so slightly opened her eyes, peeking surreptitiously through her eyelashes to see Sam casting a worried look at their older brother. Dean didn't speak—hardly a surprise—but he shook his head fractionally, which Aubrey counted as a victory, since that was about the most response they'd gotten from him all day.

"You know Mom wasn't leaving _you_, right?"

Dean shrugged, and it was obvious to anyone with half a brain that Dean wasn't buying it.

"I think she was tired," Sam went on softly. "I mean, think about it—she'd been in that house for twenty years, stuck in some kind of fucked up limbo with a crazy-as-hell poltergeist. Anybody would be read to move on after that. And besides that…maybe she wanted to give Dad a chance to move on. If she hung around, he'd never feel like he could find someone to make him happy…someone alive, I mean."

_Like he would've done that anyway,_ Aubrey thought, only barely managing not to roll her eyes at that.

Dean dropped his head against the window, gazing out at the endless miles of cornfields whizzing by, and for the life of her, Aubrey couldn't tell if he was listening or not. And apparently neither could Sam, because he kept going.

"It'd have been nice to have her, I know, but…man, that's no way to live. I mean, would you wanna be here, watching the world around you but never being able to interact with it, to only be able to communicate through one of your kids? She'd just be trading one type of prison for another. It wasn't that you weren't enough, Dean. You're…God, you're _everything_ to this family, man. I mean, we're dysfunctional in every sense of the word, but without you, we'd be nothing. We wouldn't even _be_ a family. And I know you'd probably call me a big girl for saying this, but…we need you."

Dean said nothing, his gaze dropping to his hands, his eyes unseeing as he processed.

"Look, will you at least think about what I said? Please?"

Dean gave a slight nod before reaching for the radio dial, and while it wasn't quite the automatic fix Aubrey was hoping for, it was something at least.

_It'll do for now,_ she decided, settling back once more, this time falling asleep against Braden's shoulder.

* * *

It became readily apparent that when they stopped for lunch that by unspoken agreement, they were going to once again fall back on the tried and true Winchester Avoidance Tactic #1 and pretend everything was hunky-dory.

"_That's probably for the best," _Harold told her. _"Drawing attention to your brother would likely only make things worse. No one wants their issues pointed out."_

'_Yeah, D, especially,'_ she told him as she nudged Braden awake and propelled him out of the car as he rubbed his eyes groggily.

Inside, the hostess led them to a booth in the back corner of the restaurant, Sam and Dean on one side, and she, Bray, and Jessica on the other. There was the usual jostling and elbowing for a few extra inches before everyone finally settled and menus were passed around. Drinks were ordered, menus were unfolded and flopping around, and the elbowing recommenced while they all tried to see each section of the menu.

"_The meatloaf is terrible_," a voice whispered through her mind, and Aubrey nodded.

'_I pretty much knew that—meatloaf is terrible pretty much everywhere,'_ she replied. _'Did you have to figure it out the hard way?'_

"_Nah, I was a busboy for two years—I heard things."_

'_Oh…so what's good?'_

"_Stick with a burger."_

'_Okay, thanks. I'm Aubrey. What's your name?'_

"_Mike."_

'_Nice to meet you, Mike…So umm, d'you need anything?"_

"_What, you mean like 'unfinished business' that's keeping me here? Nah. My sis works here—I keep an eye on her, that's all."_

'_Oh, okay. Well, thanks for the tip, Mike.'_

"_No problem."_

"Aubrey?!"

Startled, she looked up from the menu to see Sam staring back at her exasperatedly.

"What?"

"Would you wake up? Tell the waitress what you want—she's been standing here for five minutes now," he said, gesturing towards the waitress who was standing by the table with an awkward expression.

"_That's my sister—Terri."_

"Um…I guess I'll just take a cheeseburger, Terri," Aubrey told her. "No onions and no mustard, please. Oh, and an order of fries, and a chocolate milkshake."

Sam gave her a strange look, and Aubrey realized belatedly that Terri wasn't wearing a nametag, and she obviously hadn't introduced herself, either. _Whoops._

Hoping Terri wouldn't notice, Aubrey folded her menu and handed it over with a smile.

_See, nothing wrong here. Just orderin' my food. No need to be concerned that I know your name without you telling us._

Braden asked for an order of fries and a slice of apple pie, too tired from the Dramamine to eat much. Jess ordered the chicken sandwich plate, which Mike assured Aubrey was decent—though it probably wasn't anywhere as tasty as Chik-fil-A's chicken sandwich, Aubrey figured, and Mike agreed. Sam ordered a deluxe cheeseburger with no onions, an order of fries, and a slice of pie for Dean, and Aubrey would've been impressed with his foresight except she reminded herself that Sam had probably ordered for a silent Dean more than anyone—he'd been around Dean a lot longer, so he'd probably gotten a lot of practice…which was really sad, Aubrey realized, frowning.

"I'll have the meatloaf," she heard Sam tell Terri, and her attention snapped back to the present at her brother's words.

"Bad call, Sam—Mike says it's terrible."

"Who?"

"Mike."

"Who is…"

"He hangs around her sometimes," she told him tersely, eyeing him before cutting her eyes at Terri pointedly.

"Oh…right. Um…make mine a cheeseburger too, all the way," Sam mumbled to the waitress.

"_Wise choice. For a second, I was worried."_

When Terri walked away, Aubrey heaved a sigh of relief before frowning at Sam.

"Dude, seriously, I thought I was gonna end up having a whole _Ghost Whisperer _moment with Terri. Mike's her brother—that could've gotten really awkward. I mean, really, Sam."

"How was I supposed to know that you were talking to a dead guy?" Sam argued.

"Who else would I talk to here? We've never been in this town before!"

"Okay," Jessica interrupted loudly, bringing their attention to her. "Let's talk about something else, shall we?"

"Like what?" Aubrey asked.

"Like…um…oh, I know! Is it true that animals can sense the supernatural? I read that somewhere, and I was wondering."

"Yeah, it's true," Sam answered, reaching for the water pitcher on the table to refill.

"So why not get a dog?" she asked. "Wouldn't that help out on hunts?"

"That's why we have a hamster," Braden informed her, reaching for his Pepsi.

"Seriously?" Jessica asked, and Aubrey hid a smile as Braden nodded solemnly.

"Yeah. Dogs are too much trouble, and too expensive. But the hamster's small and easy to take care of. It squeaks at us when something supernatural is around."

"I didn't know they could—wait. You're shitting me, aren't you?" she accused, narrowing her eyes on the younger Winchester.

"Yeah, I totally am," Braden said, smirking suddenly, and even Dean seemed to smile at that.

Luckily, the tension eased after that, and they finished lunch without any major drama or Terri figuring out that Aubrey had been talking to her dead brother.

_Maybe things are starting to look up…_

"Sam, we're going the wrong way," Braden said suddenly, and Aubrey looked up, startled as much by the source as she was by the statement. Since Braden still had enough Dramamine in his system to keep him tired, he'd been asleep for the last hour and a half, so hearing him speak up suddenly was a bit of a surprise.

The intense expression on his face as he stared at their brother was a bit more alarming, though.

"Oliver?"

_Oh. Right. 's not Bray._

"Yes. You're going the wrong way."

"And which way should we be going then?" Sam asked, obviously humoring the older hunter.

"West."

"What's west?"

"California."

"Could you maybe be a little more specific? That's pretty cryptic there, Oliver."

"What's cryptic about California?" Oliver asked, raising an eyebrow at Sam's inquiry.

"Look, unless you're about to tell me something useful, Dad's never gonna go for a change in direction. In case you weren't aware, he told us to go back to Bobby's while he makes another try for the Colt. So what's in California that's so important that you want me to ignore his orders and get my ass handed to me when he finds out?"

"How about another firearm? Like the Colt."

"There's another gun out there like the Colt, and you're just saying something _now_? "

"Well, it's not _just_ like the Colt. I'd like to say it's better—it's one of ours, you know."

"One of ours?"

"A _Winchester_, Samuel," Oliver told him slowly, and Aubrey grinned at Oliver's oh-so-obvious insinuation that Sam was an idiot.

_Yeah, we think that, too, sometimes._

"Why the hell didn't you tell Dad about it so that he wouldn't waste time going after the Colt?"

"Because he's only pursuing the Colt because he's preparing to stand against Azazel. I was hoping he would reconsider—it's still a damn idiotic idea, one he'd be well-advised to abandon. Telling him about the rifle is only going to encourage him in his foolishness."

"If there's a rifle out there that's just like the Colt, then why hasn't anyone ever mentioned it before?" Aubrey asked. "I mean, people talk—and old guys write stuff down. Somebody had to have heard about it and told someone else, or at least made mention of it in a journal or something. I mean, didn't Samuel Colt write about his gun in his journal?

"She's right," Sam argued. "And if Dad's any indication, more than a few hunters know about that Colt. Why hasn't anyone made mention of a special Winchester rifle before?"

"Samuel Colt was a drunkard who couldn't hold his tongue worth a damn—it's a wonder the whole town didn't know about that gun. Nevermind how foolish it was of him to write about it in his journal."

"So you're saying no one else knows about the Winchester rifle?"

"I'm saying I kept it all in the family, and I and my family knew how to keep quiet about sensitive matters."

"So are we going after the rifle, then?" Jessica asked, staring back at Sam with a raised eyebrow. Sam glanced at Dean, who did nothing more than shrug his shoulder before returning his gaze to the window. With a sigh, Sam dragged a hand through his hair, obviously not liking the fact that the decision was being left up to him.

"_What do you think he'll do?"_ Harold asked her, and Aubrey shrugged, just as in the dark as the rest of them.

'_If it was Dean, I'd say there was no way he'd head to Cali…but it's Sam, so it could go either way. Sam sometimes does stuff just because he knows it'll make Daddy mad. But he's also a thinker, so he might just look at it logically and decide whether it's a good idea or not.'_

The car was silent while they waited for Sam to decide what to do, and after a long, terse moment, Sam wordlessly made a U-turn.

"Where am I heading, Oliver?"

"The Winchester Mystery House."

* * *

A/N: Thanks, everyone, for the reviews and the continued support! I appreciate it all so much!

**zuimar**: Even though I didn't do a Dean-centric chapter, I tried to give sufficient "air-time" to Dean here. He's my favorite, too, but I didn't see this chapter working so well from his perspective. He's definitely having a rough time—shame on me—but I think things will get better for him soon.

**ramboblue2**: I'm glad you found my fic and enjoy it! I'm a bit slow on updates, but I try my best. I work full-time as an English instructor at a college, and I get loaded down with essays and assignments, which limits my fanfic time. Thanks for taking the time to review! If you haven't already seen them, there are some one-shots in this 'verse on my homepage that you can check out if you need something to tide you over until the next update.

**nativegirl32**: I tend to avoid extra sibling fics myself, though I do like fics where Jess lives. I'm glad you gave mine a shot! Dean's definitely having a rough time, but I'll eventually get things sorted out for him. Sorry for the evil cliffie on the last chapter—my intention was to get the next chapter done quickly, but obviously, it didn't happen quite that way. As for Dean vs. the mini hell-beast, I'll see if I can slip something in for a future chapter. Anywho, thanks for the review!

**kori michelle**: I'm working on it, I promise!

**eggylaine**: Writing the stuff between Dean and his mom was about as painful as writing the stuff between John and Mary. I thought about letting her hang around awhile, but I realized it just wouldn't work well. It seemed too OOC for Mary to stay any longer. Thanks for sending a review—I always love hearing from you!

**ptbaym10**: Yeah, I toyed with the idea of letting Mary remain, but it just wouldn't have worked well. So I realize nothing else was said about Dean's arson moment, but with so much going on, I didn't see it happening here. I totally agree with you that John's not really the type to let things go so easily, he's trying to do damage control at this point—Dean's pretty messed up at the moment. Anyways, thanks so much for letting me know what you think!

**Amanda35125**: Awww, your review was so nice! I'm happy to hear that you're enjoying the story so much. I'm slow on updates, thanks to RL interfering, but I have no plans to abandon the story, so it'll be finished at some point. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for the lovely review!

**irishgirl9**: I had to let John accept Jessica—I like her too much for it to be otherwise. I'd like to definitely do the whole marriage thing between Sam and Jessica at some point…I'm just not sure where it would fit in. It may end up having to be a one-shot. I dunno. Anyways, thanks for reviewing!

**cab60**: Yeah, Dean has had it rough lately…and things aren't looking much better in this chapter. I do plan to remedy the situation soon—I'm just not sure about how long it may take. I'm thinking in the next couple of chapters at least. Anyways, thanks for sending a review!

**WastedJamie**: Your review made me giggle—I don't have an iPhone, so I don't read fanfic during my boring meetings, but I tend to take a notebook and write scenes during those meetings. LOL! I'm sorry my reviews are so slow—RL interferes often, I'm afraid. So yeah, sorry I ddidn't give you anything extra to read during your meetings. In regards to the continuation of the arson discussion between John and Dean…yeah, it didn't quite work for this chapter. The situation deteriorated quickly, and now John's stuck doing damage control. It's probably not going to happen, I'm afraid. Oh well, hopefully, you still enjoyed the chapter. Thanks for the review—I loved hearing what you thought of the chapter!

**TheWater'sChild**: Okay, so the John-centric chapter just wasn't working, but I still managed to fit in what was said between John and Mary, so hopefully, that was enough to suffice. As for Dean, yeah, I'd love for him to find his perfect woman. In all honesty, I'm a big Dean/Lisa fan, so if it's anyone, it'll be her. A lot of people hated the two together, but I loved them together. I just haven't quite figured out a way to fit her into the story at this point. It might have to be a "sequel" fic. Anyways, thanks for the review, as always!

**kasey123**: Here you go!

**ohgravitysonfire**: It's funny—as much as everyone seems to wish Mary could stay, everyone who reviewed about it seemed to agree that it was for the best for her to go. I want to read a really good AU where Mary never died—the family that slays together, stays together, and all that. Seems like it'd be pretty interesting, but then, what reason would they have for beginning to hunt as a family in the first place? In regard to finding someone special that enjoys fanfic, too…think geeky. The guys (or girls) who are into Star Wars, Harry Potter, LOTR, et cetera are typically the ones that enjoy (or can be introduced to) fanfic. My husband had never heard of fanfic until I introduced him to it. I'm still infinitely more "into it" than he is, but he can appreciate a good fic.


	49. Detours, Distractions, and Delays

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Another long wait. Sorry. Again.

Chapter 49: Detours, Distractions, and Delays

Sam hated awkward silence. Not as much as Aubrey did, but it definitely irked him. They'd been driving towards California for three days already, but it had been extremely slow going—between pee-breaks, food stops, detours, and road-side motel stays for sleep, they hadn't made much progress.

Once upon a time, traveling had been quick and efficient—they'd switched off between Dean and Dad driving, and they'd slept in the car more often than not. Of course, that had been back in the day, before Sam had topped six foot four inches tall, they'd had two vehicles, and the twins had still been small enough to easily share the back seat. With the extra height gain, the loss of a driver and vehicle, and the addition of Jessica to the back seat contingent, the days of overnights in the car were over.

Of course, to slow them down further, there was the matter of Dean's little "side-trip."

He'd seemed uninterested in driving for the first two hours of the trip, but after their first pit-stop, he'd motioned for the keys. Sam had been so excited that Dean had shown some interest in something that he hadn't questioned it, passing the keys over without hesitation.

Dean had then proceeded to drive them south instead of west for what turned out to be a reloading stop outside of Fort Bliss, Texas.

Both Dad and Dean had connections near or on every major military outpost in the lower forty-eight, or so it seemed to Sam. It came in handy when they were short on supplies, and most of the time, Sam wouldn't question an ammo stop. Sure, they could always use the ammo, but honestly, they had more important shit to worry about, and it irked Sam that he hadn't noticed Dean's five-hour detour until they were crossing the fucking Oklahoma border.

And of course, by then, Dean was dead-set on what he was doing, and Sam knew better than to fight him on it. Sam just made damn certain he didn't let Dean take the wheel again, because if he did, they'd be liable to end up on the opposite side of the country.

_Still can't believe I didn't notice. I mean, what the hell?_

He'd never actually driven to San Jose from Hays, Kansas, but Google Maps was pretty accurate, and he knew that it shouldn't be taking them as long as it was.

Aubrey had been the one to suggest they slow down—as if they weren't already poking along at a snail's pace to begin with. Jessica wasn't used to the nonstop trips, she'd reasoned, and Braden needed a break from the Dramamine dosing.

"He's gonna be a zombie if we keep making him take so much," she'd argued. "Besides, what's the hurry? The gun's not going anywhere." And damn if he could argue with that. So that meant more stops along the way, and Aubrey and Jessica seemed to be conspiring against him, timing their stops conveniently close to random sights and tourist attractions along the way.

_So much for a twenty-three hour trip._

Patience wasn't really a virtue in the Winchester family, and the delays were testing what little he had. To be honest, he was actually kind of eager to reach their destination—the frustration of traveling with his family aside, the idea of visiting the Winchester Mystery House was both interesting and bizarre.

He'd always thought that the Winchester Mystery House was a hoax, a tourist trap that offered naïve travelers a tame, falsified thrill for a nice fee. Needless to say, he was still questioning the wisdom of driving there instead of to Bobby's like he'd been told.

_And no doubt I'm gonna hear about it from Dad…as soon as he finds out. _

By some miracle, their dad didn't seem to know that they weren't at Bobby's house. And nobody was all that eager to tell him, either. Aubrey and Braden could always claim they were just going with the flow. Hell, Braden had been asleep in the backseat since they'd left—Oliver's interaction notwithstanding—so he could deny everything, easy. And Jessica was still considered a hapless victim of circumstance, swept along with whatever plans the rest of them came up with, so she was safe from John's wrath, too, and Sam wasn't about to ask her to jeopardize her "get out of jail free" card by having her tell her future father-in-law that they weren't following orders.

And then there was Dean…

If Dean had a problem with the change of plans, he sure as hell wasn't saying so… he still wasn't saying much of _anything_. He was at least uttering three or four-word sentences, so Sam supposed that was something, but getting him to let Dad in on their change of plans wasn't looking too promising.

_So that leaves me. _

_When I'm the one that's supposed to openly communicate with our father, things really _have_ gone to hell in a hand-basket. That's so fucked up._

He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Dean, not wanting his brother to catch him looking—he'd know that Sam was checking up on him, and it would only piss him off. But he couldn't deny that he was worried. Sure, Dean had at least pulled himself out of the catatonic silence that he'd been drowning in, but he was far from being back to his usual snarky, chatty self. And maybe he hadn't been that way for a long time.

_It's never so obvious that we're fucked up as when Dean goes quiet. _

"Take the exit," Dean bit out suddenly, and Sam accidentally swerved, startled by his older brother's voice after so much silence. He straightened the car back out, shrugging sheepishly at the dark look Dean gave him.

"You know, you could give me a little warning next time," Sam said dryly.

"Exit," Dean told him, pointing needlessly at the exit that Sam was coming up on fast.

"We haven't even been driving that long. We'll stop in a little while—you can make it without a Pepsi for another couple of hours."

Jaw clenched, Dean reached over and jerked the wheel, completely catching Sam off guard.

"What the hell, man?!"

"Take… the… fucking exit," Dean forced out, letting go of the wheel, and with an irritated sigh, Sam complied, taking the exit even as Dean relaxed beside him.

"Hey, what are we doing?" Aubrey piped up from the back seat, dropping the crossword puzzle she was filling in and leaning forward between them to rest her arms across the back of the front seat.

"You'll have to ask Dean," Sam told her. "Oh, and for the record, I'm not telling Oliver that we're detouring…again. Somebody else can do that—'s bad enough that I'm gonna have to hear it from Dad when he finds out we're not at Uncle Bobby's."

"So make Jessica tell him," Aubrey said easily, clearly not seeing the problem.

"I'm not subjecting Jess to Dad's temper, Aubrey—that's just wrong."

"Not _Dad_—Oliver. He likes Jessica. With Dad…yeah, you're on your own. Good luck."

"Shut-up," Sam grumbled.

"So, D, where are we going?"

"…few miles," Dean said after a long moment, and Sam had to fight the growing sense of frustration when Dean didn't say more.

_C'mon, man—we gotta get beyond three-year-old sentences. _

He tried to remind himself to be patient. After all, Dean _was _making progress—the fact that he'd gotten to that point was pretty damn miraculous considering everything that had happened lately, nevermind the emotional shit-wave that had rained down on them in the past few days.

"Which way?" he asked, trying to ignore his frustration and honor what his mother had told him to do and just be there for Dean. But being supportive was hard. It didn't help that he had no idea what the hell they were doing or where the hell they were going.

_I miss the old Dean, the one that bitches at me all the time, the one that always has a smart-ass reply to anything…the one that actually tells me what the fuck we're doing._

Dean motioned for him to go left, and Sam complied, biting back the urge to push for more.

Following the vague gestures of his older brother, Sam found himself driving down a one-lane dirt road that he never would have imagined was anywhere near the interstate. Ten miles later, he was still waiting for Dean to tell him what was going on.

They were in the middle of BFE going nowhere fast when Dean said, "Pull over."

"Dude, there's nothing there!" Sam exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the utter lack of anything beyond trees around them.

A weary sigh escaped Dean, and from the corner of his eye, Sam saw him rub at his temples.

"You okay?"

"Just…pull over. Please."

Not sure if Dean was about to fall prey to another vomit-inducing migraine, Sam pulled over without another word. As the car came to a stop, Sam put her into "park," surprised when Dean reached over and turned the car off, pulling the key from the ignition.

"What're you doing?"

Dean didn't answer, instead climbing out of the car and moving swiftly to the trunk. A familiar creak heralded the trunk opening, and a glance back showed Dean pulling a shovel out.

"What's he doing?" Jessica asked, stirring from where she'd been dozing in the back.

"No idea. If it wasn't for the fact that I know he's not really talking, I'd say he was acting like Dad."

"How would he be acting like your dad?"

"You know, withholding information like a secretive asshole."

"Don't be a jerk, Sam," Aubrey told him with a frown, even as Jessica reached up to smack his shoulder.

"What? I wasn't saying he _was_—"

"Both of you quit it—Sam, go help," Jessica told him.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, unbuckling his seatbelt and following his brother to the trunk. "So what are we doing, exactly?" he called out to Dean as he reached for a second shovel.

"Digging, Dean said over his shoulder, already walking without hesitation to a half-hidden spot at the tree-line.

"Yeah, I sort of got that part, thanks," Sam said dryly as he came up beside him. "I was hoping for a 'why' to go with it."

"Body," was all Dean said, not wasting any time as he started to dig, and Sam glanced around uneasily before joining him.

_Damn, if anyone sees us out here digging up a body, we're fucked. _

Luckily, a lifetime of experience served them well, and they uncovered a tarp-wrapped body in less than ten minutes. Without a word, Dean dropped into the hole, and gathering himself, he hefted the body upwards. Sam reached down and took it, holding his breath against the musty smell of death.

Aubrey looked uneasy as she watched from her perch on the trunk of the car, and Jessica looked a step away from being sick. Unsurprisingly, Braden didn't even seem to notice, his focus entirely on whatever it was that he was doodling in the dirt.

"Salt and burn?" Sam murmured as he gently set the body down on the ground.

"Nah. Police."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"He's haunting you, and you want to leave him—"

"She. 's not like that," Dean said, shaking his head.

"Then what's it like?"

"She needs to…she's been missing…her family…" Dean trailed off, his frustration evident, though Sam knew he was trying his best. And though his speech remained stilted, he got his meaning across.

"Alright, well…how do we wanna do this?"

"Give Aub the phone."

"Aubrey?" he asked, casting a disbelieving look at their younger sister. "Dean, man, c'mon—"

"Sam," Dean said firmly, gazing back at Sam with a pointed look. "She knows how."

Not wanting to argue, Sam called Aubrey's name and tossed her the phone. She fumbled for a moment before getting a hold of it, looking up while Sam stared back at her and wondered just what she was going to tell the police.

_If she's done this before, then…just how often did Dean take them on hunts when Dad wasn't around? I left when they were twelve…has Dean been taking them ever since? Did he do it because I wasn't there to watch his back anymore?_

"911, Aub," Dean told her, already moving toward her to put the shovels away, expecting Aubrey to comply without another word. "Sam, move it."

Snapping out of his reverie, Sam moved back towards the uncovered grave, scanning the area for any forgotten traces of their presence. He smudged the few footprints they'd left, making sure to drag his feet rather than step in the loose dirt.

Behind him, he could hear Aubrey pitching her voice higher and sounding way too much like she had when she was eight as she gave the 911 dispatcher a tearful story about how they weren't supposed to go so far from home to play, but she and her brother had wanted to play pirates, and they had wandered off because they _had _to dig a hole for their buried treasure, but they found a dead girl in the hole they'd been digging. They didn't want to get in trouble, she added for good effect, the fake sobs in her voice as she grinned back at Sam completely believable to the poor shmuck on the other end of the line.

Sam had to hand it to her—she really did sound like a scared kid. She relayed a childish version of directions, giving the dispatcher enough information to get the cops there but not enough that it would sound unusual.

"No, I can't stay!" Aubrey cried into the phone. "My mama'll get mad at me! I gotta go!" She hung up a second later, beaming as she tossed the phone back to Sam. "Easy," she told him, the familiar Winchester smirk crossing her face before she slipped back into the car. Sam looked back at Dean, only to catch a pale version of the same smirk on his older brother's face.

"Told you," Dean murmured, moving back to the passenger side of the car and settling in, the door closing with a creak. Sam stood there for a moment, still staring back at them, until Dean rolled the window down with an unmistakable gesture. Translation: Move your ass, Sam.

And with a sigh, Sam followed, hoping that they wouldn't have any more random detours on the way.

_Yeah, right. _

* * *

"Hey, Oliver, is it true what they say about the Winchester house?" Sam asked as they drove into San Jose at last.

"What, that it's haunted by the spirits of those killed by the Winchester rifle?" Braden retorted. "That's stupid, Sam."

"I wasn't asking _you_, Braden—did you notice how I prefaced my question by addressing your non-corporeal counterpart?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Braden said, rolling his eyes.

"So…Oliver?" Sam prompted.

"…It's balderdash, Samuel."

"That's something at least," Jessica murmured, her relief obvious. Unfortunately, Oliver continued at that point…

"Of _course_ it's haunted, but just as many of the spirits haunting it died of syphilis or consumption as from gunshot wounds. Honestly, bless Sara's heart, she missed the mark on that one."

"If they're not victims of the rifle, then why are they there? I thought spirits had to have some sort of tie to a place," Jessica asked, gazing back at him in confusion.

"Typically, yes. But Sara, God rest her soul, fancied herself a mystic. By her own actions, she unknowingly invited the spirits into her home. The house itself became a magnet for spirits of all manner of ilk—the rifle had nothing to do with it. I blame that crackpot medium that told her to build the house in the first place. 'Keep building or you'll die.' Utter foolishness."

"Well, at least she got a really cool house out of it," Aubrey offered. "I've seen it on TV."

"She piddled away half the family fortune, Aubrey, and for what? A labyrinth of architectural insanity," Oliver told her sternly, and Sam hid a smile at the absolute 'old man lecture' tone the dude was rocking. "She should've called it quits when that earthquake hit in 1902, but no, she took it as a _sign_ that she ought to keep building."

"Okay, look, water under the bridge," Sam broke in, eager to circumvent what was clearly a step away from a half-hour diatribe on the foolishness of Sara Winchester's squandering of the family fortune. Luckily they had reached the parking lot for the Winchester Mystery House, and he pulled in to a remote space, ready to be out of the car where he'd been trapped for what felt like eternity with his siblings.

"Alright, you guys stay here," he said, unbuckling and sliding out of the car, leaning back in long enough to grab his wallet from the dash. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Aubrey asked.

"I'm going to get us tickets for the house tour," Sam replied, checking his cash and card ratio as he debated which to use.

"Why, whatever for, Samuel?"

"Uh…so we can get in the house?" Sam replied sarcastically. _Why the hell else? _he thought, rolling his eyes.

"You want to take the tour?"

"No! We just need to get in," Sam told him exasperatedly. "Once we're inside, we'll break off from the group and go look for the gun."

"Oh, that's a terrible plan, Samuel. There's no need for all that. I can get us in," Oliver said, reaching for Braden's backpack and stepping out of the car, shrugging the backpack straps on over his shoulders.

"And how do you propose to do that?" Sam asked him, fighting back the childish belligerence that Oliver seemed to bring out in him and Dean both.

"Family secret."

"Fine," Sam muttered, casting a look at Dean, who shrugged impassively before climbing out of the car.

The others followed, getting out to stretch as Dean and Sam moved to the trunk wordlessly. He unlocked it, shifting out of the way as Dean leaned in to begin pawing through its contents.

"Are you looking for something in particular?" Oliver asked, shouldering in between the two of them to stare down into the trunk's hidden compartment.

"Nah, we just like to be prepared," Sam answered him.

"That's not exactly subtle," Oliver said, eyeing the shotgun Dean was loading with salt rounds.

"Yeah, well neither is getting our asses handed to us by a bunch of pissed off spirits. We don't know what we're going up against in there. We'd rather be ready for anything."

Oliver waited for them to finish loading up a duffle bag with their gear, watching with impatient eyes as Dean slid his favorite pistol into his waistband and a switchblade in his pocket. When Dean slammed the trunk resolutely, Oliver wasted no time in leading the way.

"Oliver, is this place noisy?" Aubrey asked as they followed along behind him.

"Well, I don't imagine the tour groups are what you would consider boisterous. I think they have rules about unruly behavior."

"No , I mean the spirits—are there a lot of 'em? Are they gonna give me and Dean headaches from all the noise?"

"It's a 'hotbed of spiritual activity,' Aubby," Braden said dryly. "Think about it."

"Don't be a jerk, Bray," Aubrey retorted, aiming a sharp glare at her twin before nudging his shoulder. "Oliver?"

"It might be a tad louder than you've become accustomed to, my dear, but nothing like Lawrence. Besides, your spirit guide and your mother's ring should be enough to stave off the majority of the noise. Your shields are stable—I wouldn't be concerned."

"Okay, good. Thanks. See, Bray? You could have just said that," she said pointedly.

"So you and Oliver seem to have found a good balance," Jessica broke in, and Sam blew out a breath of relief, not really wanting to deal with the bickering if those two got started. It wasn't often, and it seldom got out of hand, but it was annoying, and it had already been a long-as-fuck day.

"It's a work-in-progress," Braden said with a shrug, the seamless transition between him and Oliver becoming more and more obvious…and troubling. He glanced at Dean, only to see a similar concern on his older brother's face.

"Come along now," Oliver said, "the day isn't getting any younger." He circled the perimeter of the property, leading them to a thick copse of palm trees and bushes, and motioned for them to hunker down. He started pawing at the ground while Dean's shrewd gaze swept their surroundings for any prying eyes.

"Where is it…it's here somewhere…" Oliver muttered as they looked on. "Let's see, it was four paces from…damn it all." He looked up at Sam with an irritated expression, still feeling the ground around the bushes as he said, "I'm gone a hundred years and suddenly nothing looks the same. You can't imagine how irritating that is to a man my age."

Though he knew the words were Oliver's, it was funny as hell to hear them coming from Braden's mouth—the average teenage boy just didn't say shit like that. He grinned, even as Oliver turned his back on him and started belly-crawling under a tangle of thick, large bushes. Within moments, even his feet had disappeared as he moved further into the shrubbery that was so overgrown it towered over even Sam's head.

"Ah, here it is," Sam heard Oliver say, his voice muffled by the brush. He grunted, only to let out a heartfelt curse a second later. "Samuel, I'll be needing your assistance now," he called.

"What do you want me to do?" Sam asked, kneeling down by the bushes and trying to peer in.

"Crawl under here and lift this trapdoor, of course—we just need it high enough for all of us to slip in. Braden's form hasn't the size and strength for it, I'm afraid, or I would do it myself."

"You realize I'm, like, 6'4", right?"

"Why, yes, I do seem to recall that. I believe that's why I said I needed you," Oliver said sardonically.

"You're asking me to crawl into the bushes, man—I'm not exactly going to be able to get in there easily," Sam told him.

"Stop your bellyaching—you need only fit long enough to hold the door for all of us."

With an annoyed sigh, Sam dropped to his stomach, inching forward under the bushes with one arm while trying to keep the brambles from grabbing his hair with the other. He tried to coordinate his movement with the spaces between the trunks of the bushes, but they were planted so closely together that it proved just as difficult.

"Who the hell plants bushes this big and then doesn't fucking prune them?" Sam growled, wincing when his hair got tangled in the twigs above his head.

"They were intended to keep out trespassers—they're supposed to grow this way," Oliver called back smartly. Ten feet in, he finally reached Oliver, his scalp prickling from the brambles pulling at his hair.

"Ah, good, there you are. Here, it's just here—can you feel it?" Oliver asked, dragging his fingers across the ground around what Sam could see was the edge of the trapdoor. The door was covered by a layer of topsoil and grass, which had no doubt contributed to Oliver's difficulty finding it.

Moving closer, Sam used his back to push against the branches pressing down against them, gaining his knees as he slowly pressed them back. He could only manage to get them a couple of feet higher, but it was enough. Reaching down, he dug his fingers into the soil and slowly began peeling the door up. His muscles burned with the strain of pulling the heavy door up from where it had no doubt been firmly settled into the ground since the early 1900s, but once he'd freed it a few inches, he was able to shift his grip and get a good handhold. He lifted it as high as possible, still holding back branches with his back and shoulders.

"Alright, everybody haul ass—this thing's not staying up long," he grunted.

"See, I knew you could do it," Oliver said, patting him on the back before sliding through the open trapdoor.

Aubrey and Jess followed a moment later, Aubrey obviously not too excited about crawling around in the dirt, but she dropped through the trapdoor without a word—a miracle, to be sure.

"Dean, move it—let's go," Sam called out. There was a rustle followed by a thud, and a second later, Dean was shoving his way in toward Sam, his own six foot frame encountering the same kind of problem that Sam had had. Of course, he was shoving their duffel bag ahead of him, which only slowed him further. The door wasn't super-heavy, but it was awkward, made more so by his position. "Man, would you hurry? My knees aren't designed for this shit."

"Sorry, princess," Dean told him as he neared, clearly choosing to ignore Sam's displeasure. "Bag," he called out, shoving the bag into the hole before sliding inside, motioning for Sam to follow as he disappeared.

"No, I just thought I'd hang around here for a little while longer," Sam grumbled sarcastically. "I mean, I love kneeling in the dirt while everyone takes their time going through the stupid trapdoor," he finished, huffing as he maneuvered around to get through the hole without smashing his head or his fingers. Finally, he relinquished his hold and ducked down, the trapdoor dropping back into place with a thud.

He blinked to adjust his eyes to the gloom, only to gaze uneasily at the dirt tunnel that he found himself in. There were only a few inches of clearance between his head and the roof of the tunnel, and he didn't see any real supports in place.

"What's keeping this from collapsing?" Jessica asked, eyeing the "ceiling" doubtfully, clearly noticing the same problem Sam had.

"A prayer," Braden muttered, and Dean's eyes widened.

"Oh hell no," he said, turning back towards the trapdoor they'd just come through.

"Relax, boys," Oliver told them, flicking on a flashlight he'd pulled out of Braden's backpack. "This tunnel has been standing since 1897. I sincerely doubt it's going to collapse _now_."

"Why doesn't that make me feel better?" Sam muttered, taking the proffered flashlight that Dean was thrusting toward him and turning it on.

"Don't be a weenie, guys," Aubrey told him as she pushed past him to follow Oliver. Grudgingly, Dean slowly went after her, casting a look back at Sam that was easy enough to decipher.

_Yeah, it does suck._

"C'mon, Sam!" Aubrey continued. "Suck it up! 'sides, what's the big deal? So we're underground—who cares? And we're going through secret tunnels under a haunted mansion—even you have to admit that that's cool!"

"Oh, yeah," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he gave her a fake smile. "It's just the coolest thing _ever_. Life isn't a _Harry Potter_ novel, Aubrey," he finished.

"Sam," Jessica berated, giving him a warning look, and Sam frowned.

"What?"

"Quit being mean to your sister."

"Yeah, Sam!" Aubrey called back over her shoulder. Sam scowled, staring after her for a long moment before turning to Jessica.

"You're not supposed to take her side."

She rolled her eyes at his retort, pulling him along with a bemused shake of her head as they went deeper into the tunnel system.

Ten minutes later, they were in what looked like a cellar with another trapdoor above their heads that looked suspiciously similar to the one they'd come in through.

"So where are we, anyway?" Aubrey asked, gazing around uncertainly.

"Better not be where we started," Sam muttered. "If we've been wandering around in a damn circle..."

"We're just below the basement of the manor, Samuel," Oliver said, staring back at Sam with a stern expression that reminded Sam all too much of his father. "We'll wait here until 9:00," Oliver said, and Aubrey groaned.

"That's hours from now! Why do we have to wait so long?!"

"Because there are basement tours offered in conjunction with the house tours, and the last tour begins at 7:00. I don't need to tell you how much easier our task will be if we don't find ourselves in the midst of a tour group."

"Darn it," Aubrey mumbled, kicking at the dirt with the toe of her shoe.

She plopped onto the ground, leaning cautiously back against the dirt wall of the tunnel, taking care to pull the tail of her braid around so that it didn't touch the wall.

"I hope there aren't a lot of bugs down here—I don't have any Raid or hairspray."

"Don't be such a girl," Braden told her. "They're just bugs."

"Bugs sting and bite, and nothing should have that many legs," she retorted.

"Octopi have that many legs, and so do lobsters and crabs, but you don't freak out over those."

"Because they're seafood, Braden," she said pointedly. "It's socially acceptable to eat them—we don't eat bugs."

"Some cultures do."

"Well _we_ don't. And I can hate bugs as much as I want to."

"Knock it off, you two," Sam told them. "This is going to be a long-ass wait if you spend the whole time bitching at each other. Just chill out."

"We weren't bitching at each other," Aubrey told him, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared back at Sam with a classic 'bitch look.'

"Uh yeah, you were."

"No we weren't," Braden added, shaking his head as though to say that Sam was an idiot before shrugging out of his backpack and crouching down to dig inside it. "You wanna play cards, Aubby?"

"Sure."

"Dean, you want me to deal you in, too?"

Dean shook his head, sliding down the wall next to Aubrey and settling in, Braden sitting down cross-legged across from them and propping his flashlight up so that they could see well enough to play.

"Jessie, you any good at cards?"

"No, not really," she said apologetically.

"Pity," Braden said, shuffling the cards expertly. "Did you want us to teach you?"

"Oh, well…Sam actually offered the other day," she began and Braden looked up at her, shaking his head with an expression of pity.

"Seriously? You think Sam can teach you? Teach you to lose, maybe," he said, grinning.

"Hey!" Sam barked, affronted.

"What? I'm not telling her anything that the rest of us don't already know," Braden said before turning back to Jessica. "Dean's the best, of course, even better than Dad, but me and Aubby are pretty good, too. Sam sucks, though."

"The only reason they're better is because they cheat. I'm the only one in the family who actually plays by the rules and doesn't count the damn cards."

"Aww, you're just mad because we cheat better than you," Aubrey said with a grin. "His poker face sucks out loud, too," Aubrey told Jessica, which Sam thought was pretty damn unfair of her considering that hers wasn't that great, either.

"So whaddaya say?" Braden asked her. "You in?"

Jessica looked up at him with a hopeful expression, and with a rueful shake of his head, Sam chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, go ahead—he's pretty good."

He leaned close to her ear and said, "And if you suck badly enough, Dean might step in to help." He glanced at Dean as Jessica took a seat next to Braden. Dean watched disinterestedly as Braden dealt the cards between himself and Aubrey. A minute later, he pulled out his lighter and started fiddling with it, flicking it every few minutes or so to spark a flame.

As it was, Jessica turned out to be just as bad at poker as Sam had suspected she'd be—she stuck with it for over an hour before finally conceding and asking to play something else.

"Like what? Go Fish?" Braden asked disdainfully. "That's freakin' lame." Dean frowned and leaned forward, popping Braden upside the head. "Dude! What?!" Dean cut his eyes at Jessica pointedly, and with a sigh, Braden turned back to her. "Sorry."

It was clear that he didn't really mean it, but Dean must have been satisfied with the token effort because he leaned back and went back to his lighter.

"I'll just watch you guys play," Jessica said good-naturedly, and Sam had to admire her for taking that kind of abuse from his little brother.

_He's such a little shit sometimes, he really is._

"So…do you guys hear anything? Spirit-wise, I mean," Jessica asked a few minutes into a cutthroat game of Texas Hold 'Em.

"Um…I think we're both tryin' not to," Aubrey asked after a quick glance at Dean. He grunted his assent, but said nothing.

"Have you thought about maybe trying to listen to them, see if they have anything helpful to say?" Sam asked from where he was stretched out on the floor, his head pillowed on his arm.

"No, not really. I tried that in Lawrence, remember? It's confusing, and it gives me a headache. I dunno about Dean, but somehow, I don't see him being all Chatty Cathy with any of the spirits here, either."

_I don't see him being 'all Chatty Cathy,' period. _

Before he could say anything, however, his phone rang, surprising the hell out of him.

"I can't believe you've got a signal down here," Jess said as Sam dug into his back pocket for his cell phone.

"No kidding," he said, as he put the phone to his ear.

"_Where the fuck are you?!"_

_Oh shit. Shoulda checked the caller ID before I answered. Stupid._

"Hi, Dad…"

"_Answer the fucking question, Samuel!"_

_Damn, this sounds familiar. _

"We're in San Jose."

"_You're _supposed_ to be at Bobby's!" _John yelled. _"And last time I checked, that wasn't in fucking San Jose!"_

"It was Oliver's idea," he blurted out, shaking his head at how ridiculously childish it sounded. "He says he can get us another gun like the Colt."

"_Then why the hell didn't he say something sooner?"_

"He was hoping you'd reconsider your plan to go after the demon…"

"_You should have called me, especially before you all went off on your own."_

"Look, if you've got the Colt and we secure the Winchester rifle that Oliver says is here, then we'll have two weapons to use when we go up against Yellow-Eyes."

John was quiet for a moment, and Sam held his breath, trying to decide if his father was going to keep bitching him out or let it go.

"_How close are you to securing the rifle?"_

"Close—we're just waiting for closing."

"_Closing? Where the hell are you?"_

"The Winchester Mystery House."

"_You gotta be fucking kidding me."_

"Yeah, that's what I said," Sam told him, "but Oliver says it's here, so…"

"_Do you need me?"_

"Nah, we're good."

"…_How's your brother?"_

"Better than before, but not great," Sam said, keeping it vague so that Dean wouldn't know they were talking about him.

"_He talkin' yet?"_

"Not much."

"_Shit. Alright, well, listen—Oliver's a prick, but he knows his stuff. Listen to him, and be careful. As soon as you get the rifle, you haul ass back to Bobby's."_

"You gonna meet us there?"

"_Yeah."_

"Alright. We'll be there. It might take a few days, though—we're traveling pretty slow."

"_Why the hell would you do that?"_

"Trust me—it's not my choice."

"_Whatever, you get your brothers and sister to stop dicking around and get moving. It's not safe out there, not with Yellow Eyes on our asses."_

"Yessir."

"_Be careful,"_ he told Sam again, and Sam knew enough about his father to know that he was worried.

"We will, Dad."

John hung up without another word, and with a sigh, Sam settled back to finish the long wait for closing time.

* * *

What seemed like an eternity later, Braden stood suddenly, picking up his flashlight.

"Let's go, boys and girls," Oliver announced, walking over to the wooden steps that led up to Sara Winchester's basement. "Samuel, Dean, if one of you would do us the honor…" he said as he gestured at the door above their heads.

Luckily for Sam's back and shoulders, Dean stepped forward this time and within seconds had the door shoved upwards. After a quick glance to make sure the coast was clear, he disappeared through the opening, holding the door for the rest of them. Sam took the rear, following Jess up last.

The basement was dark, but Oliver navigated it without issue, seeming to not need the flashlight he was carrying at all.

They made it as far as the first floor before the true weirdness of the house became obvious.

"So fucked up," Dean muttered as they passed doorways that led to nowhere and interior windows that looked into other rooms.

"For the record," Jessica whispered, "I'm totally creeped out." She rubbed at her arms as though she was cold, looking around with wary eyes.

Braden looked back at her as he and Oliver led the way deeper into the house.

"Why are you whispering?" he asked her, quirking an eyebrow.

"Because…they could be listening."

"Who's 'they?'"

"You know…the spirits."

"Dude. You sound like one of those paranoid conspiracy whack-jobs," he said, grinning at her.

"I do not!" Jessica protested.

"You totally do," Braden argued, and Aubrey nodded her agreement.

"So you're saying they can't hear us?"

"No. But they're dead—who cares if they hear us or not?"

"Children," Oliver interrupted, and Sam had to admit, it was weird as hell to watch the shift between the two of them, "if we could refocus our attention on the task at hand?"

"The gun…where's it?" Dean asked him, following the beam of his flashlight so as to avoid eye contact.

It was easier for him to get words out, Sam knew, if he could pretend he wasn't being scrutinized.

"Sara put the gun in the séance room," Oliver replied.

"Oh, where's that?" Aubrey asked.

"It's best to show you, my dear."

He pressed something underneath the edge of a small table, and a panel in the wall opened up to reveal another room.

He stepped inside, leading them to a strange interior window and opening it.

"Oh wow," Jess murmured, watching in amazement as Oliver climbed through the window, which opened onto another random staircase. They trailed him down the stairs only to come to another flight of stairs that put them back on the same level they'd been on before.

Sam lost track after that, and only Oliver's curt reminders to stay close got them all to the séance room.

He watched from what he thought _might_ be a door as Oliver located one of the thirteen coat hooks on the wall and gently began to turn it. A small creak alerted them to one of the wooden wall panels swinging open to reveal a hidden crevice. Aubrey got to the panel before Oliver, already peering inside, though Sam noted with amusement that she wasn't volunteering to stick her hand inside there.

_Possibility of spiders—stops her every time._

There'd been several good pranks involving spiders, both fake and real, that Sam still remembered fondly.

"I don't see anything," Aubrey announced, sliding over so that Oliver could reach inside the crevice.

"It's not here," Oliver said a second later, dragging a hand through Braden's hair with a perplexed expression. "I don't understand—she always kept it here. It was added protection from over-zealous spirits."

"Great, now what?" Aubrey asked exasperatedly.

"Oliver, what do we do?" Sam asked. "You said it yourself—this place is a giant labyrinth. There are tons of hiding places—it could be anywhere."

"Or what if somebody took it?" Aubrey pointed out. "I mean, tons of people probably come through here all the time—anybody could've accidentally stumbled on it."

"Either way, who would know where it is now?" Jessica asked. "If it's in a museum, a curator would have a record of the acquisition. Heck, even if it had been sold to a gun collector, there'd be some kind of record of the sale."

"Hmm. I wonder…" Oliver murmured, staring thoughtfully at the floor. "Clyde."

"Who's Clyde?" Aubrey asked.

"He's the caretaker here."

"Well, why didn't we ask him about it before we went to all this trouble. Is he, like, 'Shady Guy' or something? Can we not trust him?"

"Oh, he's trustworthy, certainly. But you see, he died quite some time ago. It's more a matter of finding him, though I'm sure he knows we're here."

"And you think he'd be able to tell us where the gun is?" Sam asked.

"Yes, I should say so," Oliver replied, and Sam had to bite back his instinctive retort at Oliver's obvious 'you're-an-idiot-for-asking' tone.

_I wonder…does he get that from Braden, or does Braden get it from him?_ _Or are they both just sarcastic assholes from time to time. _

"So how do we find him?" Jessica asked, bringing Sam's attention back to the matter at hand.

"That's where we need Dean or Aubrey."

Aubrey and Dean shared a look, and Sam couldn't be sure that some form of secret communication didn't pass between them, before Dean sighed and came forward.

"Name's Clyde?" Dean asked Oliver, obviously wanting to confirm before proceeding.

"Yes. He's a kindly fellow—he shouldn't give you any trouble."

"I'll help if you need me to," Aubrey told him kindly, and Dean narrowed an annoyed look at her, no doubt irritated that her offer implied he was incompetent, even if that wasn't her intention.

_Yeah, that never goes over well with him._

Turning away from her, Dean cast his flashlight around the room once more, gazing around with wary reluctance before slowly closing his eyes.

_Here goes nothin'._

* * *

A/N: To my reviewers, thanks so much for hanging in there and sending reviews, even though I'm slow with the updates.

**slystir**: I enjoyed hearing what you like and what you question about the story. In regard to Dean, I tend to see him as a guy that _does _struggle to control himself, just like you said, but my version of him has him failing to do so when things get hard…and since I typically put Dean under a lot of pressure and give him a hard time on a regular basis, well…wind him up and watch him blow. LOL!

**ReadingWritingWishing9**: Every once in awhile, I go back to reread from the beginning, and it definitely takes awhile. Glad you hung in there and read all of it!

**Dee2436**: Aww, thanks for the compliment! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, too!

**ohgravitysonfire**: So I don't know that there's a tremendous amount of humor in this one…sorry. Oh well, maybe next chapter. At least there's still some angsty Dean to make the chapter juicy, right?

**Mayrem**: Okay, so when you reviewed back in October, I'm sure you were hoping for something a little sooner…sorry about the long-as-crap wait. I always say I'm going to do better, but usually, real life always manages to get in the way. Or writer's block, whichever comes first. I'll try, though!

**zuimar**: Once again, RL and writer's block postponed the chapter well beyond the start of the new year. So sorry! To be honest, I had a lot of trouble with this one, but it came out alright in the end (I think). I have no intention of abandoning it—I'm hoping it won't be much longer before I actually get it finished entirely. Of course, I said that about thirty chapters and several years ago, so who knows? Anyways, thanks for reviewing! It's always great to hear from you and get your reaction to a chapter.

**irishgirl9**: Still suspicious of Oliver, eh? Interesting…

**TheWater'sChild**: Thanks so much for your help on the chapter. Your feedback was much appreciated, and I tried to take it into account when I got back to work on it. Let me know what you think, okay?!

**Duce'sGirl**: Glad, glad, glad you do! LOL!

**I'mcalledZorro**: Sorry you had to wait so long for the update…but then again, by this point, you're probably used to it, which is just sad on my part. I suck. Thanks for sending a review, though—they really are encouraging, despite what the long wait may suggest.

**kasey123**: I'm working on it—so long as real life doesn't interfere, I'll keep writing. Thanks for the review.

**Nyx Ro**: So it wasn't as bad as you were probably thinking it was going to be (the whole trouble between John and Sam when Sam disobeys orders to go to Bobby's). But I think it worked okay…what did you think?

**Itsmecoon**: Yeah, I briefly considered letting Mary stay, but I realized pretty quickly that it wouldn't work well. Mary would know what a bad idea that was, for one thing. It would also be another character to keep up with, when I already have more than enough as it is. But it made for some great angst, though! Eventually, Dean will get back to normal…it just might take awhile.


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